


for queen and country

by tealmoon



Series: Judgment [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underswap, Body Horror, Child Death, Consent Issues, Discussion of rape/non-con, Dismemberment, Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Masturbation, Multi, On the surface, Ownership, Painful Sex, Papyrus Needs A Hug, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stream of Consciousness, Violence, discussion of suicide, discussion of underage sexuality, trying to cover my bases with these tags, unhealthy attitudes towards sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealmoon/pseuds/tealmoon
Summary: Being the Judge of the Underground isn't just a job, it's about being chosen to carry out the infallible will of the Royal Family, to keep chaos and crime at bay, to protect all of Monsterkind.And for Papyrus, it's about being helpless, and afraid, and alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askellie (NadaNine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/gifts).



It all had started in a blur. A night of strange dreams, and exhaustion, and occasionally he would find himself crying, without knowing why, sitting in class and not absorbing anything. They were halfway through a math lesson he would have normally enjoyed, but he couldn’t pay attention, didn’t notice the noise outside the door and the whispers around him, until the teacher called him up to the front.

There was a Guard at the door, in full armor. “Papyrus Serif. You’ve been summoned to the Capital, by decree of the Queen.” And, as if realizing how hardened her voice must have sounded, quieter: “I’ll be escorting you there. Get your backpack, kiddo.” The whispers around him grew more excited: _weirdo Papyrus, do you think he’s in trouble, oooh, bet he is. Wonder what he did?_ He fumbled to shove his textbook and papers in his bag, his hands numb and useless.

“What about my brother?” He choked out, stumbling up to her. “Can I tell him, or...”

She ushered him into the hallway, setting a brisk pace only to realize, a few seconds later, that he was trailing behind. “We sent a note to his teacher, don’t worry. But he won’t be coming.”

Would Sans be alright, without Papyrus to walk home with him? He wasn’t a babybones, and the school was on the outskirts of Waterfall, not far in the least, but... Papyrus didn’t want to abandon him without an explanation. On the boat ride to Hotland, he managed to text Sans, though he wasn’t sure what to say, only that he might be home late, so maybe Sans could hang out with someone instead?

(He didn’t want his older brother left alone in a house that had never felt so big, before. Not on a day when Sans only smiled because he was a skeleton. Not on a day when he sobbed and coughed up black goo into the sink, once he thought Papyrus had left the kitchen.)

She led him into New Home, through the Queen’s home, one hand in its heavy gauntlet resting on his shoulder. Did she expect him to run? Did they think he was actually a criminal? Why not just use chains?

He expected they would head into the garden, where the Queen did most of her official business. He had been there once, years ago on a school trip, and she had made cookies and told the class in a weary, soft voice about how they were all the future of monsterkind and needed to make the Underground the best place it could be.

The golden hall between the castle and the throne room had never struck him as important, just pretty. But the Guard came to a halt in the doorway, dropping to one knee as he stood in confusion. Halfway through the hall, someone had set up a little table with two chairs, and the Queen rose from the far one, approaching them with long strides. Before Papyrus could figure out if he was supposed to kneel too, or bow, or _something_ , Toriel was already looming over him.

“Papyrus Serif,” she said, smiling down at him. “Dear child. Would you please join me?”

Confusion had frozen him, and yet, his stiff legs carried him over, until he dropped into the waiting seat. She poured out a cup of tea, and nudged a plate of scones towards him. He felt a little nauseated, but as she gestured for him to take one, he took a bite on auto-pilot, barely able to taste it.

“My child, it saddens me to admit that this is not merely a social visit, and we do not have time for pleasantries.” She sighed into her tea. “Someone very important to the Underground has died.”

(No doubt she noticed his hands shaking, thinking of the nightmares, of the darkness everywhere and rushing wind, spilling tea onto the table cloth. She merely passed him a napkin to blot it up, unconcerned about the stain.)

“The well-being of Monsterkind occasionally requires sacrifice, and it pains me to put this burden on you, but there is no candidate more suitable than you, I’m afraid.”

“Candidate for what?” Papyrus choked out, staring up at her. He’d had a growth spurt since that visit years ago, but she was still so imposing, so _big._

“The Underground needs a Judge, now that our previous Judge has died, Papyrus. We would fall into chaos without one.”

“What? B-but, I’m a _kid_ , I don’t know how to be a judge, I can’t—”

“Shh.” She placed her paw over his hand, which was reducing the scone to crumbs, and he immediately went silent, feeling words still straining to flee his mouth. Why couldn’t he speak? What had she done? “I’m so sorry, but there is no one capable but you. If there was another monster who could, I would gladly choose them, but there is not.”

Toriel drew his hand to the center of the table, and he couldn’t move to pull it back, as she traced something on the bones of his wrist. It slowly began to glow as she finished the design: a little Delta Rune shining with yellow and blue magic.

Blue for Integrity, yellow for Justice, no sign of his own orange magic. The glow faded away, but the design was still there, as if it had been burnt or carved into him. “You, Papyrus Serif, are now the new Judge of the Underground.”

He wanted to scream at her, to cry, to run out of the room, but his body and his voice betrayed him, and he could only nod, helpless, confused.

*

He had been twelve.

*

Monsters were made of love and compassion, so he didn’t have much work to do as a Judge. For the first year, he didn’t have any cases at all. He could almost believe that it had been a dream, as long as he didn’t look at his hand where the Rune still laid. When one of the Snowdin Guards had walked into the store, as he lobbed jokes at the exasperated shopkeeper and she bagged his groceries, he hadn’t thought anything of it, until the Guard rested a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the rune begin to warm up.

Toriel was waiting for him in her kitchen, handing him a slice of pie that he didn’t want to eat but ended up finishing as she explained his role. “Papyrus, there is a thief, waiting in the Judgment Hall. My Guards have already confirmed that he had committed the crime. However, there is a task that only you can perform, which is necessary when deciding a punishment. While checking another person, you can learn information that the rest of us cannot. The Judge can sense whether someone has done irreparable harm to another.”

“You mean, I can tell if this guy dusted someone? How?”

“It was explained to me as a numerical value, similar to other stats: LV, or Level of Violence, which is determined by EXP or Execution Points, which one gains after killing another. Ideally, a person’s LV and EXP are 1, indicating that they have not killed. The higher these numbers, the more violent they have been, and the more harsh their punishment will be.”

“So all I have to do is tell you their number? That’s it?”

Toriel paused, and that moment made him shudder, the pie in his mouth going sour. “For now. With time and practice, you will be able to proclaim Judgment alone. But for now, let us head downstairs.” She stood up, taking his hand and leading him there. “All you need to do today is to tell me his LV.”

The thief was waiting, hands bound and surrounded by Guards who all snapped to attention as Toriel strode in, Papyrus at her heels. A few of them glanced towards Papyrus, as he shrunk behind her. “Remember what I told you,” Toriel said, and he focused on the thief. He was a bird monster, and if he turned around, his wings would probably be bound too, so he couldn’t fly away.

Wincing, Papyrus reached out with his magic, and checked him. It felt better to ignore everything else, his name, his HP, his status. The only thing that mattered was his LV and EXP. “Only 1,” he finally whispered to Toriel. “No EXP.”

Toriel waved a Guard over to take Papyrus out of the hall, while she said a bunch of stuff about community service and rehabilitation. The thief was escorted out, his bonds removed, and the Guards dispersed, except for the one who had brought him. Toriel came out, smiling gently, and put her arms around him. “You did very well, Papyrus. I am proud of you.” She was stroking the top of his skull, the hug lasting way too long. He wanted to squirm away, so she’d let him go home.

But she was the Queen. If she wanted a hug, she was allowed to hug him. Right?

*

For a while, a Guard would come to get him in person every time he had a case. It was deemed too important to leave it up to a phone call, or, Stars forbid, a text; technology in the Underground wasn’t reliable enough, and a letter would be too slow. He wished they’d be more subtle about it; people noticed that he kept getting marched down to the Riverperson.

Regardless of his caseload, his salary was always the same, enormous bags of gold that she handed over, like they barely weighed anything. They made him feel....dirty, in some way. They still had to cover the house payments and buy food (how had they ever afforded it before?), and he spent the rest on Sans: mountains of presents for Giftmas and his birthday, whatever food he wanted to experiment cooking with, a nicer TV once he started worshiping Napstabot. Using any of the Judge’s gold on himself felt weird, even if it was a few coins for a pastry at the café. Papyrus was fine only using money from doing odd jobs with Gerson, and later as a sentry.

It was the only way he could fight back.

Queen Toriel owned him. If she wanted him to eat her food, he ate, no matter if he had just eaten lunch or was feeling sick. If she wanted him to stand in a certain place, or say a specific thing, he did it flawlessly, until she didn’t need to give verbal commands anymore. If a criminal had the gall to attack her, which had happened only twice, his magic immediately reacted to stop the threat, though never to fully kill— the Judge was meant to be a pure LV 1, after all. Papyrus could sense everything she wanted, and he was helpless to disobey.

*

He had been a few years out of striped shirts when he met his first human. They didn’t need to send Guards anymore. If Queen Toriel wanted him at the Judgment Hall, he would sense it, the rune in his wrist burning just barely under the threshold of pain. If he waited too long, his body would take him there, whether he wanted it to or not. Honestly, that was almost preferable— Sans had been clamoring to join the Guards himself, and the idea of being escorted by his own brother made him feel sick and as guilty as the monsters he judged.

There wasn’t anyone there. The Hall was completely empty, but once he stepped in, he couldn’t leave. Papyrus had intended to check the garden, to find Toriel and see if there was some mistake that had brought him here when there was no one to be judged. But he couldn’t get close to the door; his body refused to take another step, every bone aching, the rune scalding until he returned to the middle of the room.

Everything seemed to happen out of his control, once the human walked in. They were a tiny thing, shaking so badly he imagined they wouldn’t be able to land a hit, if they got it into their head to attack. The words that came out of his mouth didn’t sound like him. Different pitch, more volume than he liked to use, calling out their LV (4, he had never seen a monster with more than 2, but the human looked so small—), loud enough for Toriel to hear in the next room.

He had the feeling they weren’t really listening to his judgment. When he teleported out of their way, his shortcut only let him move a few feet away, not letting him leave. He was still close enough to hear them sobbing, to hear Toriel’s soft voice. To hear the human screaming, and then, nothing at all.

Papyrus waited, because he had no choice, because he wasn’t Papyrus anymore, he had stopped being anyone once he had walked in. When Toriel finally came in, blood splattered on her cape and breast plate, his hands reached out to her, outside of his conscious control.

She was saying a name that wasn’t his, eyes closed, holding his hand to her cheek, but he was too far away to feel it. It took a long time to wash the blood she left between the joints of his fingers.

*

Papyrus dreamed of Toriel, a lot, more than he should have, earlier than he should have. If he wasn’t having weird nightmares about darkness and unfamiliar figures, it was distressingly erotic dreams about the Queen. It was never anyone else, regardless of his daytime infatuations. When he was younger, on the cusp of becoming a teen, it had been more innocent: a dream about kissing the Queen. He had never kissed anyone before and didn’t know how people with lips actually did it, so the mechanics of it were a blur. But she tasted sweet, and her fur was soft, hands carefully holding him in her lap.

Regardless, that dream had triggered his first Soul manifestation, oozing blue and yellow rather than his typical orange. Sans did the laundry, so of course he found Papyrus’s stained nightshirt, and soon a stack of Librarby books on monster puberty landed in front of Papyrus’s door. He appreciated his brother’s support, he really did, but reading about monster sex in all its varying forms only gave his dreams more material to work with.

Toriel exploring bones that no one had ever touched before, with her hands, her claws, her tongue. Toriel squeezing his Soul in her fist, or pressing it against her own. Toriel shaping his magic into whatever she wanted it to be. Toriel fucking herself, while he was unable to look away.

Usually he enjoyed himself in the dreams, before the shame rushed back upon waking, but sometimes, he dreamed that he screamed and cried himself hoarse, begging her to stop. Or he would have dreams where he had gone completely mute, unable to move or speak as she did whatever she liked to him. Those were probably the most accurate ones, honestly. She was his Queen, after all. If she wanted to fuck him in waking life, he’d have to do it, as her Judge. It wasn’t like he could pass judgment on Her.

She hadn’t yet, but he didn’t have a lot of hope for the future.

*

Deep in Snowdin Forest, at the end of the path, there was a door, and behind the door, a man. Sentry work got boring and lonely, but here was someone to talk to that didn’t have any expectations of him at all. He didn’t even have to joke with the old man; sometimes Papyrus just sat quietly and listened to him relate the comings and goings of the Froggits and the spiders.

But one day, the man barely talked at all, and no amount of terrible jokes could get more than a sigh from him. Papyrus was about to leave, having strained his break time, when finally his voice spoke up. “I am sorry for being so melancholic today, my friend. It is rather cold out there, isn’t it? Would you rather come inside?”

The door creaked open, so slowly that he wondered when it had last been opened. He’d only had a second to look at his mystery friend, before his vision snapped to the Delta Rune on the man’s chest. His wrist began to burn.

Asgore (because it _was_ Asgore, it had to be, no one else would provoke this reaction) realized it a second too late, as Papyrus stumbled across the threshold and to his knees in front of him. It was the King, his King, he had talked to him this whole time without serving him properly.

“Oh,” he breathed, kneeling beside Papyrus and taking his wrist in one enormous hand, tilting it from side to side to examine the rune there. “I am so sorry, my friend. I didn’t know.”

“Your Majesty—” Asgore shushed him, before he could ask how he could best serve him. Had he been neglecting half of his duties all this time? What would the King want from him that the Queen didn’t already demand?

“Please, my friend. You can call me what you wish, but my name is as good as anything. And yours? A late introduction is better than none, I suppose."

“P-Papyrus,” he said in a whisper. “Your Judge.”

“Papyrus,” Asgore repeated. “Papyrus, my friend.” He pulled him back to his feet with ease.

“What are your orders?” There weren’t any criminals in the Ruins, but there had to be something, right? There always was.

“Papyrus. I want...for you to make whatever choice you prefer. For instance, you could come into my home and have tea, or come see my flowers, or you could leave. Any of those choices, or something else, would be acceptable.” He tried to smile, but it amounted to an unconvincing mouth twitch.

There had to be a catch, but he let the King lead him into his house, let the King pour him a cup of tea and did not drink it, listening to him gossip about the Whimsuns. He was late to his next shift, but was that really as important?

*

He began to dream of Asgore as well. He was gentler than Toriel, and he asked for permission sometimes, but Papyrus still couldn’t bring himself to speak.

*

“My friend, could you promise me something?” His legs grew weak, and he slumped down into the snow, leaning against the icy door. _Asgore knew what he was doing, he knew, he KNEW Papyrus couldn’t say no!_

“If a human ever comes through this door, please. Protect them, and keep them safe, won’t you?”

He was doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ellie, I found one of your plot bunny posts again and was struck by inspiration. It's too late for a Christmas present and not really porny enough or exactly the prompt, but still! It's a thing!
> 
> For everyone else, the prompt was:  
>  "The position of ‘Judge’ is inexplicably and magically tied to the judgement hall, and Sans’s appearance there isn’t something he chooses to do, but is compelled to do. Either the position is one that’s inherited by a monster each generation, something that’s destined and unavoidable, or it came about at some point during Gaster’s tenure as a means of protecting the King and royal family and Sans was literally made for that role. And the idea that the Judge is inexplicably bound to royal family and that gives Asgore certain powers over Sans’s being."
> 
> Which I turned into Underswap for reasons unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I've bumped the rating from M to E for this chapter.

“I n-never knew the sky could look like this,” Undyne breathed, and Papyrus definitely agreed. If all sunsets were like this, then maybe he could have hope for the future. _The sky was the limit,_ and all that. And there were clouds too, and the hint of a quarter moon starting to appear.

“This is amazing! Is that really the sun? The pictures never looked like _this_. It’s so pretty! Glorious, even!” Sans reached his hands out, as if he could pluck the sun out of the sky.

“Sure is, bro,” Papyrus said.

“It’s so beautiful,” Toriel murmured. “I could stand here and watch this for hours. But I do think we should move ahead, so we can begin our future on the Surface.”

“We’ll scout ahead,” Alphys said, already bounding towards what might have been a really old trail, Sans on her heels, shouting about the humans they might get to meet. When was the last time anyone had climbed this mountain without falling in? He doubted they would encounter anyone until they had gotten off Mt. Ebott and closer to the city in the distance. Papyrus started to follow them, gesturing for Undyne to come with. Someone had to make sure those two didn’t tumble down the mountain, and it looked like Chara needed some privacy, whispering to Asgore.

Toriel wasn’t moving as fast as the others, enraptured by the sun. She took up most of the path, being so much bigger than him, and she turned to let him pass, pressing up against the rock face. Her eyes flickered down to his wrist, her joy flickering to regret before she brought her expression under control. He didn’t need to pull up his hoodie sleeve to check.

Suddenly the fading sunlight felt a lot colder. The Delta Rune was still there. Maybe he wasn’t free at all.

*

The Surface was good for Sans. He threw himself into every opportunity he could find: a new job, classes at the community college (one of its first new monster students), stargazing, new friends. His stats were going up; maybe the sun was burning out all the blackened gunk in his magic, and soon it would only shine blue, stronger than ever. And he could see improvements in other monsters as well. Undyne and Alphys had celebrated their two month anniversary not that long ago, and Undyne had been networking with human scientists and searching out research grants. Muffet’s café had opened its Surface location, and it was getting more customers than ever. (Granted, it was often in the form of humans daring each other to go in, terrified of the spiders, but money was money.) Toriel had opened a school for monster children, and Asgore started working as a landscaper. It seemed like everyone was flourishing.

Well, except for Papyrus and Chara. He would often see the kid glancing towards the mountain, didn’t matter if they were in a building and it wasn’t in view. The kid always knew where Mt. Ebott was, and they would stare off, in longing, in irritation.

He knew the feeling.

It had been 89 days since they had been liberated and he had last walked through the Judgment Hall, and those days may as well have been carved into his ribs.

*

So, it turned out that humans didn’t have Judges, only judges, and they fully expected monsters to be the same. Monster crime was still far less common than human crime, but they had to follow human tradition for the rare occasion when a monster stole something or hurt someone. People could train to be judges, and there were things called ‘juries’ and ‘lawyers’, and the whole thing just seemed like a complicated mess. There was no use for a Judge, but he could still feel it in his bones, in the brand still waiting on his wrist. Whoever had started the tradition, whatever had bound Papyrus apparently hadn’t accounted for monsters actually reaching the Surface.

But his duties weren’t over, merely changed.

Toriel was already putting on her coat as he walked in, which was a relief. If she was about to leave, he wouldn’t have to interact with her too much. “There’s a casserole in the fridge, all you need to do is heat it up. Don’t let Chara stay up too late, and no chocolate, they already had some candy this afternoon.” Probably summoned by the mere idea of chocolate, Chara appeared from the other room.

“Hi, Papyrus,” they mumbled, hugging Toriel tightly. Poor kid. Baby-sitting days were always rough on them.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, my child,” Toriel said. “Please be good for Papyrus.” Queen Toriel went to a lot of official-type events, working on monster-human relations. Chara hated the cameras and the reporters, so they usually stayed with Asgore, unless he got roped in as well and it fell to Papyrus to look after them.

He didn’t mind too badly. Chara was a pretty mellow kid most of the time, and he couldn’t blame them for acting out a little, anyway. Sometimes the Surface made him want to scream and throw things too, no hard feelings there as long as Chara didn’t hurt anyone. Toriel paid him for it, and babysitting money didn’t feel quite as tainted.

They read in the corner of the couch while he flipped channels, the volume muted and subtitles on. Toriel’s house always put him on edge, but it was a little easier when she wasn’t physically there. Chara was absorbed in their book, and he was able to look them over without getting their attention. No bruises on their arms or face. It was summer, so they weren’t wearing tights under their shorts, and he could see their legs were undamaged as well, aside from old scarring. Human injuries still left a bit of a mark, even after healing monster food, but they looked fine.

Probably it was paranoia, but Asgore had made him promise to look after Chara, and well... Toriel didn’t have the best track record with human kids. Every time he came over to Toriel’s house or she dropped them off at Asgore’s while he was around, he had to make sure they were okay.

By dinner time, Chara’s mood had picked up a little bit. “You could order a pizza instead,” Chara said softly, as they both stared at the casserole dish. It looked suspiciously healthy, from all the unidentifiable green bits. “I wouldn’t tell.”

He snickered, patting them on the head until they ducked away from his hand with a pout. “Nah, kid. At least it’s not snails?”

“I _like_ snails,” Chara said, as he pulled open the oven and shoved it inside. “And aren’t you supposed to be the cool uncle who gives me pizza? And lets me stay up as long as I want?”

“Don’t get your hopes up kiddo, it’s a school night.”

It was fortunate that the magic binding him to Asgore and Toriel didn’t extend to their child. Was that because Chara hadn’t taken the throne (and probably never would, now that there wasn’t a throne to take), or because they weren’t a Boss Monster?

Either way, Chara was a good kid, they didn’t need to get involved in that shit.

He managed to get them through dinner, keep them away from the baking chocolate in the cupboard with careful use of blue magic, confirm that they had done their homework, and shoo them to bed at a reasonable hour, if a little later than Toriel would have preferred. They weren’t that energetic of a kid, but he was still exhausted as he collapsed back on the couch.

Toriel’s house had a guest room. She probably assumed he would use it, because that was the normal thing to do, but she had never _told_ him to. Its bed probably had far cleaner sheets than he had ever slept in. He would probably be able to smell the laundry detergent on them, the same one she used on her clothes. His sense of smell was pretty dull from years of smoking, but it was impossible not to smell something if you were sleeping in it all night.

The couch was preferable. Shoving one of the stiff, decorative throw pillows under his head and dragging down the afghan draped over the back to use as a blanket, he let sleep take him.

*

He dreamed of Her, of course. It was impossible not to when he slept in her house. He was laying on the grass and she sat beside him, Papyrus in only his thin undershirt, and her in her robes, though she rarely wore them now that they were on the Surface. The Sun was bright above them but not painful, and the sky was a uniform blue, a few shades darker than Sans’s magic. Toriel’s hands were warm and soft as she detached the bones of his left leg.

It was an interesting biological quirk of skeletons: their bones could be removed, and if you did it carefully, rather than tearing the bone away, it wouldn’t impact HP. He figured it was a survival method. If your arm or leg got trapped by something, you could abandon it, and either retrieve it later to be reattached, or slowly reform the body part with magic. He had once read about Surface lizards that could do something similar, sacrificing their tails so they could escape a predator. Papyrus had never lost a major body part before, just popped off a finger a few times when he was young, to gross out other kids.

If he turned his head, he could see the individual parts of his right leg, stacked in a neat pile beside him. It ached a little as she moved up from his fibula to his femur, but it helped that, once each bone was removed, he couldn’t feel anymore sensory input from it.

He expected her to remove his pelvis as well and add it to the pile, but she just trailed her hand along the edge of his hip, giving him a wink before moving away. Instead, she reached for his hand, limp on the ground beside him. Toriel laced her fingers with his and slowly began to pull away each little piece of his phalanges.

He woke up to a hand on his shoulder. Usually it took someone shaking him, or yelling, or dumping a bucket of snow on him (that used to be Alphys’s preferred method, on the rare occasions she visited Snowdin), but Toriel merely touching him had him awake instantly. “There you are, sleepybones. Did you and Chara have a nice night?”

“Morning,” he said, forcing himself up to a sitting position and then standing, his body creaking. “Kid was saint-like, as usual. The conference?” He hated this sort of small talk crap, especially in the morning, but he couldn’t be rude to the Queen.

“It was...interesting. Humans can be very strange sometimes. But I am glad to be home.” He was halfway to the door, when her voice drew him back. “Leaving already? Won’t you stay a little while longer?” He froze, hand reaching out to the doorknob, shoulders hunched.

“Please, Papyrus, stay for breakfast. I’ll make pancakes.”

It was a Tuesday, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Sans had his morning classes. It was incomprehensible that Sans could learn at that hour, when it took Papyrus until noon to get his faculties in order, but that was Sans for you, so cool and focused. If Papyrus left now and took a shortcut, he could make it home before Sans rushed out the door. He wouldn’t have much time, but enough to tell Sans to have a nice day.

His joints hurt as he sat down at Toriel’s kitchen table instead, Chara rubbing the sleep out of their eyes beside him. He asked for two pancakes, and she gave him five. “You could use a good meal, dear, you’re all bones,” Toriel said, and he forced a laugh, eating them dry.

Sans was long gone by the time he made it home, and he wouldn’t answer texts while he was in class, but it was fine.

*

Papyrus went back, once. No one stopped him, or noticed he had been gone. He opened a shortcut at the very top of the mountain, at the place where they first emerged, steeling himself before he walked in.

The throne room was empty, just a room. The throne had been removed (where was it now? he hadn’t seen it since they moved to the Surface), and the flowers had been transferred to the garden in front of the new monster school, leaving behind only grass. It was starting to die without proper watering, crunching underneath his feet.

The coffins, with their tiny bodies, had been moved as well. Maybe they had finally been buried? Maybe, someday, Toriel would tell him where their graves were, so he could apologize to the three he had condemned.

(He was stalling for time, he knew that.)

The Judgment Hall was worse for wear: the floors were scratched and dirtied from hundreds of monster feet trailing through on their way to the sunlight; the stained glass windows were dim without anyone to wash them. If he had been a different kind of skeleton, maybe he would have tried to clean it up, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort with no reward. Taking out and lighting a cigarette, he slowly made his way to the middle of it, to the exact spot on the floor where he had stood to proclaim someone’s judgment.

Without the barrier muffling everything, he could hear the wind outside, and birds. There was a faint buzz coming from the brand on his wrist, but it was a fraction of what it used to be. It wasn’t about the Judgment Hall anymore, if it really ever had been.

*

He stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his sandal, replacing it with a lollipop and retrieving a second one from his pocket, as the human trudged their way across the lawn towards him. “Hey, Chara.”

“Hello yourself,” they said quietly, blocking the light above him as they took the candy. Though it was always chocolate once he had learned that they loved it, it seemed to catch them by surprise every time, popping it in their mouth before they settled down beside him. Not too close, but close enough, as they shrugged off their bag and spread out papers on the grass.

If they asked for help on their homework, he’d give it, but Chara rarely asked, and Papyrus never offered. He dozed off a little, lulled by the afternoon sunlight and the scratching of their pen, the little murmurs Chara made to themself.

Asgore soon emerged from the house, beaming widely. “My child! Did you have a nice day at school?” He offered them a glass of iced tea, and they nodded, too busy gulping it down to properly answer. And, in a slightly quieter voice: “Would you like some as well, Papyrus?”

“Yeah, sure.” Asgore kept playing it off as being absent-minded, _a silly old man who doesn’t set out enough glasses_ , but in asking, he always gave Papyrus the room to say no. Soon the King returned, sitting in the grass and asking questions about what Chara had learned that day.

In all honesty, Asgore was one of his first friends. There were the regulars at Muffet’s, but he barely saw any of them outside of the café, and it never went deeper than small talk or drunken rambling. Didn’t that make them acquaintances at best? And it was hard to consider Muffet a friend when he was paying her to put up with him. There was Undyne, but she was so busy these days that he rarely got to talk to her, face to face or online.

People liked _Sans_ , Sans who was brilliant and kind and exuberant all at once, who didn’t make jokes at the wrong time, who didn’t sneak up on people, who hadn’t skulked around the Queen’s castle like he belonged there. Which made sense, Papyrus adored Sans too, but sometimes he wished he could have a fraction of that for himself. Now that monsters weren’t piled on top of each other, he could go days without talking to anyone aside from his brother.

But there was Asgore, who didn’t seem to think he was weird or creepy at all. Asgore, who asked for his birthday and gave him a little potted succulent, assuring him that it didn’t need much water, so a lazybones like him could keep it alive. Who baked honeybuns for him when he got his first job on the Surface and didn’t insist he eat them until he felt sick. Who slowly started to make the most awful plant puns Papyrus could have ever dreamed of.

Unlike Toriel, who sprinkled ‘harmless’ orders in almost everything she said, probably without realizing it half the time, Asgore rarely asked him to do anything. The obvious thing to help with would be Asgore’s garden, but Papyrus didn’t know _how_. Even when everything in him was clamoring to serve Asgore, he couldn’t distinguish weeds from flowers, nor could he help carry the bags of soil Asgore bought, which were probably heavier than him. On a rough day, when his Delta Rune was leaving him antsy and determined to please, he might water Asgore’s sturdier flowers, ones that would survive being accidentally flooded or under-watered, but that was all.

It wasn’t that Asgore was keeping him ignorant about gardening, no, the monster couldn’t stop talking about flowers. But he didn’t teach Papyrus the sort of things that would have him be useful, it was all _these flowers are edible but these will make you ill_ and _in the old days, these flowers symbolized loyalty_ and _if you’re having trouble sleeping, I could harvest some lavender for you, it would be no trouble at all_. He could talk like that for hours, Papyrus laying in the grass and clinging to every word.

Were friendships really supposed to be like this, with Asgore giving so much and Papyrus having so little to offer in return?

*

Something had to give, eventually.

Sans had been getting annoyed with him lately. He didn’t go out enough, he spent all his free time sleeping, couldn’t he spend some time with friends? And yeah, maybe he _was_ sleeping a lot, but wasn’t his mattress a friend? Why was Sans keeping them apart? His brother was on the cusp of throwing him out of the house and barricading the doors until Papyrus had an acceptable social experience, complete with documentation, when Asgore texted him.

The King still wasn’t very good at texting, but the message was clear despite the typos, offering to make dinner for Papyrus. And it was one of those weeks where Chara was at Toriel’s, so he must have been lonely. It was enough to get Papyrus into semi-clean clothes and through a shortcut before he could think twice.

So he went. Someone making him dinner, and all he had to do was sit and talk? Sounded perfect to him. And it was, for a little while. He took his place at Asgore’s kitchen table, listening to him talk about his clients and how Chara was doing at school. Papyrus occasionally threw out anecdotes about his human coworkers and Sans, but he was mostly content to listen, as Asgore chopped and mixed and poured. He couldn’t tell what Asgore was actually making, with his bulk shielding the counter, but it smelled good.

When he tried to remember what had gone wrong after the fact, it was a blank. He had said _something,_ a joke, probably not a very good one, but it made Asgore laugh, hard enough that he put his knife down and gasped for air after. He could feel it ignite a tiny spark in his Soul, immediately spreading.

It wasn’t too surprising; sometimes he got a little turned-on around Toriel and Asgore, couldn’t help it. For a while, his hoodie was thick enough to maintain his modesty. Papyrus could feel his Soul dripping gently, and it must have been glowing too; he could feel it, warm against his sternum. He thought it would go away on its own, like it usually did.

It got worse. Everything Asgore was saying was innocent, and he wasn’t looking at Papyrus, back turned as he was making a salad, but Papyrus could feel more and more warmth bursting from his chest. Not just his chest—there was a wet heat starting to build in his pelvis. Squeezing his legs together didn’t help, and he pressed his sleeve against his mouth to keep from gasping as a cunt fully formed.

That’s how it usually was, in the dreams: for Toriel, a dick, and for Asgore, a cunt. Occasionally it was different, and things got weird if both of them were there, but that was usually how his bits formed. Wouldn’t that be what they wanted from him? What was the point if Papyrus didn’t have somewhere for Asgore to jam his dick into?

Would it be painful? Asgore’s dick was probably proportional to the rest of him; could Papyrus really handle it? His HP would hold out, with its buffer from sleeping, but he didn’t know how much damage conjured genitals could take before they disappeared. At least his cunt wasn’t attached to him, so if Asgore tore him open, it’d go away once they were done. It wouldn’t be so bad.

*

(Papyrus wasn’t innocent to the thought of genitalia. He had seen his fair share of monster porn, in all its varying forms, and now that he was on the Surface, he had looked at a little human smut, just to know what it looked like: as unpleasantly fleshy as 90% of monster porn, with less variety. If he put his mind to it, he could have formed any number of genitals, only limited by his imagination.

He just... didn’t like to. Of course he had summoned things before, just to see if he could, but he found them foreign and overly sensitive. But sometimes he would wake up with the junk that had featured in his dreams, unwanted, unable to make it disperse. He’d have to grind against his pillow so he could get off without touching it, so hot that it was painful, and he would feel echoes of his magic in his pelvis, hours after it had disappeared.

The only porn he actually liked and sought out from more than just curiosity was ghost-made: no flesh or genitals, no penetration, just ghosts gently phasing into each other. That shit really put him in _high spirits_ , enough that he could run his hands along his ribs and have a nice, quiet orgasm without ever thinking about Boss Monsters.)

*

He didn’t expect himself to get so wet. Whenever he woke up after a dream with sudden bits, it was always a little damp, but not the flood he was feeling now. Papyrus never wore underwear (Sans scolded him for it, but why bother when it’d only create more laundry?), and he could feel it soaking into the crotch of his shorts. His Soul had gone from dripping to oozing, and his undershirt was heavy with it, a little of it starting to seep through his hoodie. He was getting so overheated that it only seemed natural to take it off.

He could feel his undershirt riding up against his slick ribs as he pulled off his hoodie. It fell to the floor with an audible thump, his hands going numb as the light of his Soul, the yellow and blue he had gotten used to but still quietly detested, fully shone out, brighter than he’d ever seen it. He must have made noise, maybe a moan, because Asgore was turning around. “Hmm? Did you say something, I didn’t catch that...”

He dropped his spatula, and its clattering seemed to echo for minutes, the only sound aside from Papyrus breathing heavily, watching him. It was hard to decipher exactly what sort of expression Asgore was making, but from behind the barrier of his polo shirt, there was a faint green glow. It wasn’t nearly as bright as Papyrus’s, but it was all he needed for confirmation: Asgore was getting turned on too, just from looking at him.

He stood on shaking legs, feeling another gush from his cunt. Would it start running down his femurs soon? Grinning, he took a step towards Asgore...who stepped back, leaning against the stove. That wasn’t right, was it? Why was he backing away?

How did it go in the movies again? He needed to say something hot, something that would make Asgore look a little less...panicked. He was in too deep, and his Soul wanted so much that if he denied it or if Asgore said no, it might snuff out all together. It was time to be _sexy._

He leaned against Asgore’s arm, and no doubt the King could feel the heat of his Soul through both of their shirts. Papyrus tried to give him a sultry look, despite his general lack of lips, eyelids, most of the facial features fleshy monsters used for flirtatious expressions, really. He wasn’t sure what the result looked like. “C-c’mon, Asgore. Don’t you wanna go to the bonezone?”

Nailed it.

“Goodness, ah. Please—” Asgore’s hands fluttered in the air above his shoulders, keeping himself from touching Papyrus. “That is very flattering, but perhaps you should sit back down? Please, calm yourself.”

Despite all the dreams, as pornographic and varied as they had become over the years, now he didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands, with his voice. He settled for pressing himself closer to Asgore, smearing a bit of Soul essence against his apron. He was becoming more and more sensitive with each passing second, feeling individual drops of blue and yellow seeping down his ribs and spine, soaking into his shirt and the waistband of his shorts. It wouldn’t surprise him if he started leaving a puddle on the floor soon.

“Your Majesty, I’m at your command. Use me however you want.” Unspoken: _please, if you don’t do it, I might explode. If you don’t do it, what’s the point of me?_

“Papyrus, my friend.” Asgore reached up to his face and drew a finger down the bone, from his eye socket to his jaw. “If you truly wanted to be intimate with me, I don’t think you would be crying.” He held up his hand, traces of orange liquid visible against his white fur. “I’m not going to hurt you by doing something neither of us wants.”

When had he started crying? It was impossible to feel it over everything else that was happening in his body. He stared at Asgore’s hands in disbelief, as he stepped back, gesturing for Papyrus to follow him. For a delirious second, he thought the King had changed his mind and was leading him to his bedroom. But instead, Asgore brought him to the bathroom.

“Here. Why don’t you clean yourself up a bit? It’ll help you calm down.” As Papyrus stared up at him in confusion, Asgore put his hands on his shoulder blades, pushing him gently towards the bathtub before walking out, the door shutting with a deafening click.

Asgore literally wanted him to take a cold shower. What had he done wrong? Why weren’t they fucking right now? But...Asgore had told him to ‘calm down’, which was both a rare, unambiguous order and Asgore-speak for ‘please get rid of your boner’. He couldn’t refuse.

The idea of taking his clothes off made his cunt throb, almost at the point of pain, so he merely kicked his sandals off and climbed into the tub, still dressed. That way, maybe he could rinse away some of the mess from his Soul at the same time? Steeling himself, he reached for the cold water knob and turned it on full blast.

It was a little like how he imagined falling into Snowdin River might have been, and he swallowed down a screech as he angled his ribcage towards the stream. His shirt did little to shield him from the cold, and he flinched as his Soul constricted, shifting away from the droplets seeping down his spine.

It wasn’t working, though he forced himself to stay under the water. While the rest of him had gone icy, his Soul and his cunt were still painfully hot, still aching to be touched. Did he actually have to touch himself? In _Asgore’s_ house? What if the King heard him, or came in to see what was taking him so long? What if he couldn’t manage to get off?

It wasn’t possible to do it like at home; he didn’t have quiet, uninterrupted hours with a nice video and a locked door; he didn’t have a pillow to rub up against and another one to muffle himself with. At least he still had his shorts on, he reasoned with himself, hand skimming across his waistband. At least he didn’t have to look, staring at the tiled wall as he moved lower, stalling at his sacrum.

It was...really squishy, which wasn’t particularly hot, and neither were his prodding attempts to navigate it. He had seen diagrams and cunts on other people, but it was weird. Maybe if he made it into an anatomy lesson, it would be easier. Better than thinking about Asgore, leaning over him, his tongue about to—

No. _Focus_. If those were his labia, then that was his nonfunctional urethra (there for show, because it didn’t connect with anything), and then... He jolted, trying not to whimper. If that was his clit, why did touching it hurt? Wasn’t that supposed to be the best part? He poked at it again, harder that time, but it only stung.

Maybe it was better to just do what he had seen in videos, he reasoned, moving farther down. If it worked for other people, it’d work for him, right? Maybe not the best, but enough to get him out of this shower and back to lucidity. Steeling himself, Papyrus reached down to the entrance of his still gushing cunt and pushed two fingers inside.

_Oh fuck, it hurt, why did it hurt so much, why was it burning, what was wrong?_

They were only in up to the first joint, but he couldn’t push any further, like his cunt had closed up, like it was past fucking business hours and had locked up for the night or something. He could feel the tiny notches and scratches in the bones of his fingers, and they had never felt so rigid and uncomfortable before, his walls squeezing around them. All that wetness wasn’t helping at all.

(If he couldn’t handle his fingers, then there was no way Asgore would have fit. If he had somehow managed to seduce the King, he would have failed anyway.)

His stats screen came up, warning him that he had lost a point of HP, 19/1 now, but he ignored it. Maybe if he got deep enough his body would start adjusting. Papyrus spread his legs as wide as he could manage without losing his balance, one hand braced on the shower wall. He was trying to force his fingers deeper when his wrist brushed against his clit. Suddenly he was grinding down harder, trying to get more contact. It was warm, too, despite the icy water; he was using the hand with the Delta Rune. Maybe that was blasphemous, frantically rubbing against it, but he didn’t care, he had to keep going, his clit ached and it felt like he was being stabbed inside as each movement jostled his fingers, but he couldn’t _stop_ —

It wasn’t enough. He could feel himself getting closer, but the pain was overwhelming what little pleasure he was managing to tear out of himself. His skull fell against the tile, eyes closed. Maybe it would be okay to think of Asgore a little, just to finish himself off. Asgore’s warm arms around him, pinning him down, forcing him open, claiming him as his own...

When he finally came, painfully, exhausted, his body clamped down so hard against his fingers that it pushed them out altogether. He sobbed with relief, his Soul letting out one final pulse of heat and liquid before going still. His cunt disappeared immediately, leaving sticky residue on his femurs, but it continued to sting, his body sending him signals as if it was still there.

He wobbled on his feet and sat down before he could fall, fumbling to turn off the shower still pounding down on him.

*

Asgore finally came in, five minutes, maybe ten, maybe an hour after Papyrus had shut off the shower. Gently pulling back the shower curtain, he looked down at Papyrus, huddled there in the tub and staring at the wall, arms around his knees, water still streaming from his soaked clothes. At least now the water ran clean.

He was shivering a lot, his bones clattering. Making slow, deliberate movements, Asgore eased a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his shoulders. He took another one and held it out. “You’ll give yourself a cold at this rate. Won’t you come out, my friend? We could get you some dry clothes.” He wanted to protest that skeletons couldn’t get colds, but he slowly untangled his bones until he could get to his feet, clutching the towel with one hand and Asgore’s offered forearm with the other.

At least Asgore wasn’t afraid to touch him anymore, briskly wrapping the second towel around Papyrus’s waist. “There you are,” he said, hands on Papyrus’s shoulders. “I’ll get you something of mine to wear, it won’t fit at all, but it will have to do, while we put these into the dryer. And then we can have dinner. Maybe some tea as well?” Whatever he had been doing while Papyrus had been in the shower, it had clearly calmed him down, and now he was all business.

Papyrus trailed behind Asgore, still dripping water on the carpet. He stopped in the doorway of Asgore’s bedroom as he picked out clothes, knowing that if he followed him in, the whole mess of arousal might start all over again. Seeing Asgore and a bed in the same context was enough to make his Soul hum again, just a little.

“I’ll let you get changed, then we can have a little talk, alright?” He shuffled over to let Asgore pass, clutching the towel tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, as Asgore nearly turned the corner and out of hearing range. “I fucked up, and—”

“I know, Papyrus. It isn’t your fault.” He expected Asgore to leave at that, but he walked back, taking his skull between two huge paws that could have easily crushed it, but instead held him gently, staring into his eye sockets, looking tired but still as kind as ever. He leaned down, and the part of Papyrus that was still childish and owned and endlessly longing thought there would be a kiss.

And there was, a brief moment of fur and breath, not on his teeth, but on his forehead, before Asgore let go, nudging him towards the room and his waiting clothes.

(Even now, he still didn’t know how to kiss. It was almost a relief.)

*

Asgore owned exactly one horrible Dad sweater adorned with pot leaves, though Papyrus had no idea where he got it. And Asgore could be naive sometimes, but not when it came to plants. He had a brief, hilarious mental image of Asgore wearing it out, cheerfully playing ignorant. Maybe to Chara’s teacher conferences at school. To the grocery store. To the plant nursery.

It was enormous, the sleeves covering his hands, the collar slipping down towards his shoulder and leaving his clavicle bared, no matter how many times he adjusted it. He didn’t have any hope for the shorts, which threatened to fall off his hips with each tentative step. Asgore had left out a belt, but tightening it to the last hole barely helped. Luckily the sweater was long enough that it’d cover his pelvis if the shorts dropped, but he didn’t want to risk it, holding them up as he shuffled out, soaked clothes in his other hand.

Maybe the whole thing wouldn’t have hurt so much if Asgore had just went ahead and fucked him, or ordered Papyrus to suck his dick or something. It would have been terrifying and awful, and he would have sucked at it ( _heh_ ), but it would have made _sense_. Asgore had the right, didn’t he?

But instead, he put Papyrus’s clothing in the dryer, and sat down with him, quietly telling him he had done nothing wrong and Asgore wasn’t upset with him, while pouring them both tea and plating the dinner he had made, still warm. He only managed to eat enough to bring his HP back to normal, feeling nauseated, terrified to look Asgore in the eye. His fingers rattled against his fork.

“I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised, but I’ve seen a lot in my day. It’s hard to scandalize an old monster like me, you know. We can talk about this, though that is up to you.”

It was hard not to feel like he was ruined everything in a single evening, but Asgore was smiling at him over the rim of his tea cup.

When he offered his hand, Papyrus took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) birthday, Ellie! Decided to continue more of this, with some messed-up, crywanking Swap Pap. The only bingo entry this counts for is ‘Hurt/Comfort/Tears’, but I hope you like it regardless. Maybe I’ll level up in smut writing eventually and I’ll be able to tackle a few of those other kinks. 
> 
> I need the ‘overprotective Fell Sans in honeymustard’ plot bunny more than ever. Or a nice Fell Papyrus would work too, but this poor guy really needs a skelefriend to teach him to how to person. No matter how nice Asgore is, Pap needs a friend who doesn't have power over him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some noncon in it, so be aware.

He tried, he really did, he knew Asgore wanted to talk about what just happened, but Papyrus couldn’t force the words out. His pelvis was aching really badly, despite how cushioned Asgore’s chairs were, and he was forming a massive headache. Eating probably would have healed him, but he could only manage a few bites and half of his tea. He was lucky Asgore didn’t push the issue, or he would probably start heaving, whether or not he could make it to the kitchen sink in time.

Asgore had made this enormous, delicious meal for them, and he was letting it go to waste without even a proper explanation, making them sit in awkward silence. Soon the dryer finished, and he changed back into his clothes in the bathroom. Did they still smell a little like Soul fluid and cum? Hopefully he was just imagining it, because Asgore enveloped him in a hug when he came back out.

“Would you like me to walk you home, Papyrus? I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The sun had set about half an hour before, but the night wasn’t too cold and Asgore’s home was a pretty brief walk from his. (Teleporting was out of the question. Maybe in the Underground, where he had known every inch and could navigate it with ease, but the Surface was too big and he was too rattled.)

Asgore looked pretty skeptical, but he let Papyrus leave. After another hug, he started walking, every step sending jolts through his pelvis. Was Asgore watching from the porch? He didn’t let himself turn to look.

He barely saw any monsters or humans out, and there wasn’t much traffic. It was better that way; he didn’t want to run into anyone. He put his hood up too, just in case. The “holy shit, it’s a skeleton” conversation was fine, if tedious in the daytime, but he could imagine it going badly at night.

Fuck, would Sans be home? Papyrus wanted his comfort and presence, but Sans had that Older Brother Sense™. He’d get suspicious if Papyrus didn't tell him about his time with Asgore. He could usually dodge his brother’s questioning, but he was just so exhausted, and intricate lies were beyond him right now.

There was no point in worrying. The door was locked, the TV was off, the house was dark other than the light in the kitchen. There was a note on the counter, written in Sans’s blue ink. “I’m going to be home late, because I’m having a study party with some classmates. Don’t wait up! Not that you ever do!! Love, Sans.” He had doodled little stars and skulls at the bottom.

He only had to wait through a few hours of dozing and half-wakefulness, staring at the dark bedroom ceiling, his quilt wrapped around him. Sans tried to stay quiet, but Papyrus could still track his sounds: lights turning on, setting down his bag, his footsteps in the kitchen. Painfully easing off his mattress, he headed downstairs at a snail’s pace, squinting at the sudden brightness.

“Oh! Sorry, did I wake you, Papy? I was trying to be quiet.” He seemed ready to go to bed himself, heating up milk on the stove. He looked happy, and Papyrus sighed, knowing he was about to ruin it.

“Nah, bro. Just had a nightmare.” The lie stung a little bit; it had been a while since he had last used it. ‘Nightmare’ was a good shorthand for any number of problems, and Sans always responded well to it, even when Papyrus worried that he had overused it, fearing that someday Sans would scold him for his childishness and send him away, _sans-_ affection.

But not now. He dropped his backpack, which he was probably organizing for tomorrow, opening his arms so Papyrus could step into a hug. He squeezed him as hard as he could, and Papyrus leaned down so he could nuzzle his skull against his brother’s. “I was hoping you’d stop having nightmares, now that we’re on the Surface... But at least they’re becoming less frequent, I suppose! Soon I think they’ll go away entirely. Do you want some milk too? That surely will make you feel better!”

He nodded, letting go and slumping down at the kitchen table so Sans could pour another mug’s worth of milk into the pan. “Did you want to talk about it?” Sans stroked his skull gently. Back when he was younger, he used to share the details of his nightmares, the claustrophobia, the drowning, the people who laughed at him and spoke in gibberish. But after a while, it wasn’t worth it anymore, either having to dredge up those horrible images or make up a lie. Sans would comfort him either way, and at least Sans wouldn’t get that horrified, blank-socket look from the awful things Papyrus’s mind could create.

“Nah, bro. Rather not think about it.” Was he just out of it, or did Sans seem a little relieved? Soon he poured the heated milk out, cinnamon on top of his and honey for Papyrus. He sipped it as his brother herded him back into his room, sitting on the floor while Sans straightened out his sheets from their messy, gross tangle. The milk was starting to ease the pain a little; solid monster food healed more reliably, but a drink still helped. “In the morning I want you to wash these,” Sans scolded. “No wonder you’re having nightmares, when you sleep in squalor!” He didn’t know why he’d bother making the bed when it’d inevitably become a mess, but it made Sans happy.

“Will you be okay, going back to sleep? Do you need anything else?” He patted the bed, and Papyrus climbed back into it, pulling the sheets over himself.

“I think that’s it. Thanks, bro.”

“Of course!” Sans gave him a final hug, clacking his teeth against the side of Papyrus’s skull. “Now, this doesn’t mean you can oversleep tomorrow morning. Well-rested does not mean over-rested!”

“Wouldn’t _dream of it_ , bro.” Sans growled at that, stomping out the room with his now-empty mug, though his face softened as he reached for the light switch, smiling gently at Papyrus in the second before the room went dark.

And it worked, like it always did: no nightmares, no erotic dreams, just faint visions that he forgot the moment he woke. His brother really was the coolest.

*

Papyrus was an idiot. By now, he should have known not to be alone with Dreemurrs for a while, right? For a few weeks, he managed it. In his defense, he thought he was coming over to look after Chara, like usual. But he had gotten his dates mixed up, and by the time he had realized Chara was with their dad, the door had closed, leaving him alone with Toriel. She looped her arm in his, leading him further into the house.

“You’ve been scarce lately, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. You can keep an old woman company while she grades papers.”

He winced as they entered the kitchen, the table covered in stacks of children’s schoolwork, practical towers of it. There was barely enough room to set down the cup of coffee she offered him, and definitely nowhere to put a plate of unwanted snacks. Maybe it was as innocent as it seemed? She immediately set into the nearest pile, as he sat down awkwardly.

“Are there any I could help with? Like, math sheets, or...?”

“Oh! If you don’t mind, I think there’s some you could do.” She soon unearthed an answer key and a bunch of quizzes from one of the piles, and he slowly began to decipher the little-kid handwriting, at a fraction of her pace. She filled the quiet mostly by talking about her students, occasionally reading aloud a particularly bizarre test answer or essay, though the conversation soon drifted. He mostly hummed and nodded along.

“...And I was thinking we could throw Alphys a nice party for her first birthday on the Surface, I know she’s been a bit melancholic lately...Ah, Papyrus? Do you need to tell me something?” He looked up from where he was trying to identify if a scribble was a 7 or a 9, confused at the sudden amused lilt in her voice. “Your Soul, dear. You’re projecting a bit.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised at the faint glow from his chest. It wasn’t so different than last time: a kitchen, a conversation, a Boss Monster. Of course a similar situation would give him a similar reaction. He covered the glow with his arms as best he could. “Shit! I’m sorry about that. God, this is embarrassing, should I leave?” ( _Please say yes._ )

She scooted her chair over, her smile becoming a bit sharper, her fangs peeking out. “There’s no need to be so shy. Monsters have needs, after all.” Her hand landed on his femur, and he tried not to wince, feeling himself getting hard. “I could help you with that, you know. A Queen should look out for her Judge’s well-being.”

It didn’t feel nearly as frantic as it had with Asgore; his mind was clouded with panic rather than lust. Why wasn’t he throwing himself at her, like with Asgore? What was wrong with him, that his body favored the King over the Queen? Unaware of his internal conflict, she stood, taking his hand, and began to lead him upstairs.

In the Underground, he had never visited any of the bedrooms of the Castle, though he had wondered what they looked like. On the Surface, the door she led him to had always been shut, and he had expected (hoped?) to never see it. It was spacious but not lavish, flooded with light, not at all crowded by the enormous bed in the center of it. Once he caught sight of it, it was hard to look at anything else.

Papyrus was used to being the tall guy in the room, the gangly huge skeleton, but Toriel and Asgore always made him feel so small. She ushered him onto the bed, which was certainly not _queen size_ , gently scolding him when he didn’t kick off his sandals first. “You’re blushing so much, it’s adorable,” Toriel breathed, a hand sweeping over his cheek and down his jaw.

He couldn’t move as she eased his hoodie over his head, dropping it to the side before snaking her hand up his shirt, starting to explore his ribs and vertebrae with light touches. He should have reciprocated, somehow, but it was hard enough staying still so she could touch him. But when she moved too close to his chest cavity, where his Soul was trembling and leaking (not gushing, it didn’t want her the way it wanted Asgore, _what was wrong with him?_ ), he made a tiny noise of discomfort.

She paused. “Papyrus, are you alright? Am I moving too fast?”

He wasn’t alright, she was moving too fast in that she was moving at all, and those were the wrong answers. Instead, he tried to grin. “Uh, you know. I don’t want to do Soul stuff right now, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine! That is a bit intense for a brief dalliance. Would you prefer to keep your shirt on as well?” He nodded so hard his spine hurt. “I can think of a few other things we can do, don’t worry.” She even winked at him as she said it, taking his hand again.

She tugged him to the edge of the bed, gesturing him to hang his legs over the edge. After settling onto the floor, she undid the buttons on his shorts and gently tugged them down his hips, tossing them aside. He couldn’t help but try to cover himself up, tugging down the hem of his shirt when his hands couldn’t cover the white expanse of his pelvis, his jutting erection that threw an orange light across her face.

“I think this suits a lazybones like you. Just sit back and I’ll do the work,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to his femur and nudging his hands away.

It wasn’t right, for the Queen to be kneeling at his feet, to look at him the way she had in dreams, her mouth getting too close, her tongue—

He whimpered, as she licked a stripe up from the base to the tip of his dick, cleaning away some of the orange precum oozing out of him. Her tongue had a weird, rough texture to it, though it wasn’t painful. “You taste so sweet. I imagine it’s all that candy and honey, hm?”

Her mouth was warm and wet as she started sucking on the tip, and her claws were little pinpricks on his legs as she held them steady, but those sensations felt like they were receding, like they were happening in a memory. It didn’t feel good, in that it didn’t feel like much of anything. If he focused, the feeling of her tongue could reach him, the feeling of his hands strangling the blanket underneath him, but why bother making that effort?

The room was so cold, with only his shirt on. It was warm outside, and the room faced the sun, but his bones were icy. Maybe that was why he was trembling so much?

“Goodness, you are a shy one,” Toriel said, letting his dick leave her mouth with a pop. She patted his ankle. “You don’t have to stay quiet, there’s no one around to hear it.”

Was he supposed to make noise? Obediently, he forced out a moan as she swallowed him down again. Did that sound weird? Was it loud enough? How much was normal? He knew what was normal for porn, but that didn’t apply anymore—he wasn’t about to grab her head and pull her in, or thrust into her mouth without any consideration for her, or any of the stuff he had seen and tuned out in videos. He couldn’t do that to the _Queen_.

Her mouth was just so...fleshy, surrounding him like that, licking and sucking. He felt a bit of nausea rising up in him, the aftertaste of that coffee, threatening to return. Logically, he shouldn’t have expected for it to feel any different, but it felt like _meat_ , squishy and repulsive and too warm, and his mind scrambled away. It helped a little not to look at her; she didn’t seem to notice when he stared across the room instead.

(He wanted to go home.)

The curtains were drawn on the window, he noticed (desperate for any distraction), letting in a lot of sunlight. It was a beautiful day outside, birds were singing, flowers were blooming... On days like these...on days like these...

He didn’t feel himself come, though he assumed he must have, from the way his body rocked towards her, bones clattering. Toriel pulled away, daintily wiping at her mouth with one hand and patting his leg with the other. Was that it? Was it over? His dick evaporated as she stood, heading into the adjacent room. There was a brief sound of water running, before Toriel returned to run a wet washcloth over the droplets of orange on his pelvis. She retrieved his shorts too, pulling them up his motionless legs.

Once she was done, she settled back on the bed, pulling him against her side. “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

...He wasn’t sure, anymore. It hadn’t hurt, and she had left his Soul alone when he asked, which was kind of her. Toriel could have grabbed it, could have done whatever she wanted, but at least she had given him that choice. There were worse ways to lose your virginity, probably.

( _“That was nice, wasn’t it?”_ Of course it was, there was no room for it to be anything else. If Queen Toriel said it was nice, then it was, his mind rearranging the experience to match. Of course it was, it was _fucking amazing_ , he couldn’t ask for better, she was so generous.)

“Can’t...can’t I do something for you, in exchange?”

She laughed softly, petting his skull. “You’re very sweet, but there’s no need. I just wanted to do this for you, you always seem so stressed. Hopefully this helped a little.” Toriel hummed, tapping his chin. “There is _one_ thing you could do, though.”

“Of course,” he whispered. Maybe it wasn’t over?

“I do know you’re a smoker, and though I don’t indulge much, especially not around my child, a cigarette would be lovely right now, if you have any.” Numbly, he reached over to his abandoned hoodie, taking a half-empty pack out and handing her one. She crossed the room to the window, wrenching it open and lighting the cigarette with fire magic. Standing there in the light, a haze of smoke forming around her, she looked as regal as she ever had with a crown on her head and a trident in hand.

She smiled beatifically down at him, and it made his Soul flutter. “That wore you out, didn’t it? How about a nap?”

“The grading?” He was already shifting, ready to get up and follow her back downstairs.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Those quizzes won’t suffer if you sleep for a little bit, I promise.” When she crossed the room to sit beside him again, her fur smelled like smoke, and he couldn’t help but lean closer. “How’s this, then: I would really like it if you slept for a little while. It would be good for you, and it would please me very much.”

That seemed to flip a switch inside him. He could already feel himself becoming drowsy, slumping against her. She picked him up easily, as if he was a doll, moving him up to the pillows and rearranging him on his side, curled into a C. “Now, isn’t that better?” Papyrus heard her say, stroking down the length of his spine, over and over. Toriel spread the comforter over him, and he finally started to feel warmer, like his bones were thawing out. It took no time at all for him to drift off, Toriel petting him the whole time.

*

He fell asleep clinging to one of her pillows and woke up huddled on the floor underneath his desk, with Sans shaking him. There was barely enough room for him, hunched over into a ball, the edge of the desk digging into his scapula. “What are you doing under there? I didn’t hear you come back, I thought you were out this whole time! Papyrus, what’s going on? What’s wrong? Answer me!”

He couldn’t remember walking back, or teleporting, or anything. Had Toriel taken him home? He could remember her...touching him...before he had taken a nap, and if there had been anything after, it was a hazy gray spot in his memory. What time was it? How long had he been asleep?

Sans was starting to cry, so many questions falling out of his mouth that Papyrus couldn’t follow them, let alone answer. Why was he so upset? He had no idea what was going on. Sans backed up enough that he could squirm out; he could see the window, where it was dark out, long past sundown.

“Papyrus, it’s two in the morning! You weren’t answering your phone, so I called everyone and no one knew where you were, and I thought... I thought...” Sans covered his face, sobbing into his hands as Papyrus stared at him, uncomprehending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month ago: it’s just a bit of suggestive mind control fic, shouldn’t be too hard!  
> Now: What if I put in a bunch of plot? So much plot. Unorthodox headcanons out the ass. 
> 
> Hopefully it'll turn out decently. It's not going to be a longfic or anything, but still a bit bigger than I'm used to writing, so I'm worried I'll mess it up, ha. Plus there’s the issue of ‘okay, the plot goes like THIS...Wait, there should probably be more sex in this, where do I put the sex, goddammit.'
> 
> ...Hope everyone's still down for that.


	4. Chapter 4

Alphys was trying to get Undyne to be healthier, these days. There would probably always been noodle cups in their _cup_ boards (shared, now that they were happily living together), but he would catch Undyne posting online that she’d just managed her first pushup, or that they were fumbling their way through a health cookbook. He could only imagine how that turned out, between Alphys’s explosive cooking adventures and Undyne’s skill mostly ending at being able to microwave something.

And on Saturdays, it was mid-morning jogging at the park a few minutes away. He was still groggy at that hour, so he usually _parked_ himself on a bench, drifting off or watching Sans and Alphys try to coax Undyne into a faster pace, as they went around on the park’s circular track. Sometimes Sans could convince Chara to come along, like today, but they usually set up shop on the bench too, sitting beside Papyrus and poking at their phone.

It was nice, if a little chilly. By now, they’d been to the park enough that most humans barely gave them more than a worried glance. He had to applaud the joggers who passed by silently, rather than glaring and loudly talking about those monster freaks. There was even a young woman, either a mother or an older sister, who was walking around the track, hand in hand with a bundled up little toddler. Though he was too far to hear what she was saying, she slowed down to chat with Undyne, while Sans cooed over the kid, who patted at his face and giggled.

Human kids were pretty neat, adapting to monsters a lot faster than adults. For every adult who cringed away from Papyrus, there were two kids who were delighted to see him, once the shock wore off. He was so distracted, watching them, that he didn’t notice Chara at first.

They were leaning closer to him, their hands clutching his sleeve until they were white-knuckled. “Papyrus,” Chara hissed. “Papyrus!”

“What’s wrong kiddo?” Nothing happening with the human; she was walking again. Sans and Undyne were jogging side-by-side, Undyne panting to keep her pace, while Alphys was ahead of them, jogging backwards and yelling encouragement. No problems or obvious threats, just humans, some of them walking dogs or pushing strollers.

“No, I don’t— I don’t know, it’s—” They whined, hiding their face against his arm. Usually they weren’t this touchy. Maybe a panic attack? Usually it took crowds of humans to really upset them, and the park was pretty sparse, but maybe it was just a bad day.

“There’s something in the trees,” they said, muffled by his hoodie. Unsure of what they meant, he looked up. On one edge of the park there were a few scattered trees, away from the path. There was a bit of movement, gray or white, before a person emerged from the other side of the tree, trying to pull their dog along.

“It’s just someone walking around. They’re not doing anything bad, kid. Nothing to worry about.” He didn’t know what the problem was; they didn’t like other humans, but the presence of a dog should have balanced that out. On a whim, he even Checked them from a distance, but the human didn’t have any LV in them.

“No, there was something there! I don’t mean them!” Chara was getting red-faced, pulling at his sleeve as they looked up at him. He scanned the trees again, more thoroughly, but he couldn’t see what they were talking about. “Papyrus, why aren’t you listening? It was right there!” They slapped one hand down on the bench, and he couldn’t decide whether to feel worried (one tiny kid hand against cold metal, already going red with pain) or quietly relieved that they hadn’t hit him instead.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. Probably wasn’t a good idea to pet their head or anything, not if they were getting physical. “I believe you, I just didn’t see it. Want me to take you home? We could use a shortcut.”

They shoved their face into their sleeve, smearing away the few tears in their eyes. “I...yes. Please.”

He called out to his bro as the three monsters passed by on another lap. “Hey, guys, gonna take Chara home. See ya.” Whatever it was, it would be better to let their dad deal with it, maybe with some tea or something. Easier not to tell Sans or Alphys, they meant well but their comfort would probably be too...exuberant for Chara. Papyrus gestured for them to get to a standing position, careful not to touch them, and then into a shortcut.

(Later, much later, he remembered Alphys, no longer smiling or shouting as she jogged, face stiff. And Sans looked strained, one hand fluttering near his chest in the way that he did, when he needed to cough really badly but didn’t want to in front of Papyrus. Maybe he shouldn’t have left them there.)

Things had been awkward between him and Asgore, ever since...well, since he tried and failed to bone him. He tried to keep it out of his expression, as he walked them up the driveway. He wanted to just drop Chara off and head home, but of course, Asgore’s expression brightened upon seeing him, and he couldn’t say no to that.

“You’re home early than I expected,” he said, looking baffled as Chara immediately latched onto his sweater. “What’s wrong, my child? Do I need to get out the chocolate tea?” They nodded, shuffling along behind him as he set up the kettle, one little fist clinging on at all times. “Will you be joining us, Papyrus?”

He could spare a few minutes, for a cup of tea. Sans would probably still be jogging for a while, and he had an evening shift, so there was plenty of time for a nap between now and then. What harm could it do? “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Beaming, Asgore set out mugs with faded flowers covering them, and soon enough the tea was ready, the process sped up with fire magic. Chara snatched their mug up almost before Asgore finished pouring, taking a gulp that must have scalded their mouth. “Slow down, my child. You’ll burn yourself. The tea will not run away from you, should you take your time.”

After a few minutes of trying to get Chara to talk, with limited success, Asgore turned back to Papyrus. “I’m glad you’re here, by the way. Toriel...” His face twitched as he said her name; Papyrus could relate. “Toriel has suggested that you and I have lunch sometime soon, so we can have an opportunity to talk about...things.” Chara looked between them, eyebrows raised, no doubt wondering what he meant. (And honestly, he kind of felt the same way.) “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

It sounded ominous, but he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar. Probably the coming weekend, so they wouldn’t be working. He had work on Sunday, but only in the evening, so he had time to have lunch, and a few hours to recover from lunch and whatever they had to say. “Does Sunday work? Next Sunday?”

“I’ll have to check with Toriel, but I’ll let you know in a day or so. I haven’t gotten to see you lately, so it’ll be pleasant, I hope.” He wasn’t sure Toriel and Asgore being the same room was ever a pleasant experience, but at least there would be food. “Would you like more tea?”

“Oh, uh. Nah, I’m fine.” He’d barely drank half, and it was starting to go a little tepid. It was good, but didn’t hold a candle to golden flower tea. He continued to sip, as Chara held their mug out for seconds, already looking a little less upset. He could probably leave soon, without having to worry about them.

...Did it count as a date? How was he going to survive a week of anticipation for a ‘date’? With both of them, no less?

*

He wasn’t sure when his bath became just an aimless soak. Probably at the ten minute mark? The water had been as hot as he could handle when he drew it, but it was growing steadily lukewarm. The tub wasn’t big enough for him to stretch out, so he laid on his back, with his knees awkwardly jutting up and his nasal aperture barely above water. His bones ached from scrubbing so hard, but at least he knew he was clean. His soap was on the other end of the tub, too much effort to grab it, so he had used Sans’s bodywash instead. Now he smelled like citrus and had a light coating of glitter.

There was a knock at the door, one he had almost been expecting it, from the way his brother had been looking at him the whole night, and from the general mood in the house. “Papy, are you still in there? Can we talk?”

He sat up, water streaming off of him, out of his eye sockets. “Sure, bro.” He couldn’t be bothered to care about his brother seeing him in the bath. It was just bones. Still, once Sans came in and sat down on the closed toilet seat, he fixed his gaze on the shower curtain instead (which was covered in skulls and crossbones, courtesy of Alphys). “Sup?”

“Well, you’ve been in here for a while now, and you didn’t eat much lunch or dinner,” (he had hoped Sans wouldn’t notice), “and I was just worried about you? Especially after what happened the other day.” When he had finally come out of his trance, which was weird but hardly anything to cry and panic about the way Sans had, he had tried to convince his brother everything was okay. He had fallen asleep in much weirder places in the past, after all. He had probably dropped something underneath his desk, crawled under to find it, and passed out from the minor exertion, with his phone accidentally left on silent so Sans’s texts and calls couldn’t wake him. Apparently Sans hadn’t bought the explanation.

“Plus you’ve been sleeping a lot lately. Everytime you get home from work, you go to bed immediately. It feels like...like you’re having another one of your episodes.”

His ‘episodes’ was how they always put it, in the Underground. “Papyrus is having an episode” wasn’t nearly as scary as saying “Papyrus is so depressed he won’t move or eat.” An episode rarely lasted more than a week or two before he was back to his normal self, before Alphys could get too annoyed and finally fire him. About the only thing that would end an episode prematurely was a summons from the Queen, so most of the time they just endured it.

But they were on the Surface now! They had the sun! There was no way he could be depressed now that they were all free. Sans was just being fussy and overprotective. He brought a hand up, flicking bath water at Sans. Only a few drops reached him, but he squawked dramatically anyway.

“Stop that! Papyrus, I’m being serious.” He smiled as he said it, though, which was the important part.

“I’ve just been tired from work, that’s all. I’m fine, bro.”

“I know it’s been keeping you busy, but maybe if you tried something new, something that would make you happy. Just a little thing, so you could fit in your schedule. Like a hobby? Or, I know what you’re going to say, but maybe you could try school again? Just one class, to see what it’s like. The monster scholarships are there for a reason, Papyrus.”

With a sigh, he slid back underwater, as if it would muffle Sans’s voice. He’d thought they were done with those arguments, which always just went in circles, frustrating them both. It was _but you’re so smart, and it’d be good for you, Papy_ on his brother’s side, and _it just isn’t for me_ over and over from him, unable to give the real reasons.

Sans had graduated, back in the Underground, but Papyrus dropped out of high school with two years still to go. It was too hard to stay awake in class, too hard to walk into a school where everyone knew he was the weirdest of the weird, too hard to care when he might get called away at any moment to stand at his Queen’s side. His Judge duties were always excused absences, but he couldn’t keep up in class when no one there would lend him notes or warn him about an upcoming deadline. Plus, if he wasn’t in school, he could take up more jobs; it felt wrong that Sans was out working if he wasn’t.

So he just...stopped going. Never got his diploma, tried to never think about how cool college might have been. It wasn’t for him, right? It’d be a waste of time and money to try, knowing he would inevitably fail. Papyrus wasn’t an academic. It was enough to occasionally read salvaged textbooks; he didn’t need a degree. Not Underground, not on the Surface.

There was a gentle splash, as Sans came over and dipped his hand in the water, glove and all, to pet at Papyrus’s skull. He reluctantly surfaced again. “I know, you get upset about that. I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to be a class. A hobby, dating, _something_. We’re worried about you. Undyne says you haven’t answered her messages in ages, and you barely talked to her when we went jogging.”

“Bro, seriously. I’m fine. You’re worrying over nothing.” So maybe he hadn’t been online much or checked his texts, other than scanning them to see if any were from a Dreemurr. But sometimes that shit just took too much effort. It didn’t mean he was depressed.

Poor Undyne, she probably took it personally. He needed to get around to that. Eventually.

Sans stood up, taking his damp glove off and wringing it out in the sink. “Maybe you’re right.” He huffed. “Don’t stay in the bath too long, your bones will go soft! And don’t stay up much longer, it’s getting late.”

He didn’t intend to. He hadn’t told Sans he was having lunch with Asgore and Toriel, but maybe what his brother was sensing was just his nervousness. For something like that, he needed as much sleep as he could get.

...So, of course, he barely got five hours, constantly waking up halfway through threesome dreams. The one with Asgore pouring honey on Toriel’s breasts for him to lick off with a conjured tongue (they had fur, what was his subconscious thinking? that was a bit more than a _sticky situation_ ) got him off the mattress, just so he wouldn’t fall asleep and return to the dream. He scrolled through Undyne’s endless messages, which got steadily more worried and nervous. He shot out a quick response, hoping it would be enough. He was too mentally blurry to think of a fish or nautical pun to add, but oh well.

It was barely six AM, and the sun wasn’t up yet. Hell, his brother, the earliest of early birds, wasn’t up yet, judging from the silence in the house. Papyrus was hungry already, his head hurt, and...he stared down at his crotch, which was still glowing brightly. He’d been ignoring it for ten minutes, by now, though he couldn’t find a sitting position that wasn’t uncomfortably stimulating.

Probably because it was threesome dreams, he had both a dick and a cunt, crowding the space in and around his pelvis and producing twice the sticky, uncomfortable emissions. He was too tired to get his magic under control, and it obviously wasn’t going to go away by itself anytime soon.

...He was going to have to do his own laundry, _again_. Probably before going out to lunch, so Sans didn’t wander in on a cleaning binge and see his bedding covered in orange. He crawled back onto the bed, kicking away the blankets so they would be spared from the jizz carnage. Face down, pillow between his legs, pillow against his mouth, trying very very hard to think about anything other than Boss Monsters.

Which part did he need to get off with? Shit, hopefully it wouldn’t be both, he barely had stamina for one. It was like the saddest race ever, seeing what part of his junk would come first, since they were getting about the same amount of stimulation. Probably his dick, since his cunt never behaved, even under ideal conditions. Maybe he needed a vibrator? Something to train his magic to work properly. _That_ would be a fun thing to explain during the family budget meeting.

Focus, focus, maybe speed up a little more. Remember that one soft-core porn with dragon monsters, which he expected not to like but ended up repeating the first ten minutes of the video over and over. It had started with one giving their partner a massage before they got to the actual sex, which barely interested him in comparison. It’d be nice to have someone touching him like that, right? He bit down on a moan at the thought. Stars, they’d used massage oil too, it must have felt so nice...

His dick dribbled out a bit of orange with one final, sloppy thrust. His cunt wasn’t nearly done yet, but the whole mass of pseudo-flesh evaporated. He rolled over, not caring about the jizz he was smearing on himself—it all had to be washed anyway.

Hopefully it would be enough to keep him from any unwanted boners throughout the day. Maybe he needed to get in the habit more often, to take the edge off his magic reserves? Ugh. He fumbled out of his clothing and into something marginally cleaner, and dabbed up as much of the mess as he could with a tissue.

At least the laundry room had a little window, and he could watch the sun start to come up as he put everything in the wash. He wasn’t ever going to get used to that sight.

*

It was honestly pretty awkward, walking between Toriel and Asgore, and he wondered how people at the diplomacy conferences dealt with it. They were careful not to look at each other, and when they spoke, it was only to Papyrus. No wonder the people walking their way made sure to move, though that might have been because they were a solid wall of Boss Monster. Asgore let people pass him, but Toriel didn’t shift for anyone, striding forward.

Lunch would be nice, either way. There were a bunch of greasy spoons around, and the variety was pretty decent. But...they passed all the diners Papyrus was familiar with. Maybe they knew one he hadn’t been in before?

They were leading him down streets he had barely seen before, the only monsters in an otherwise human crowd. With a quiet sinking feeling, as they passed art galleries and boutiques, he realized what was going on. Did they seriously not notice the problem? Were they really doing this?

As they opened the glass door to the fanciest restaurant he’d ever been in (the one at Nasptabot’s nightclub didn’t remotely compare), a dozen pairs of human eyes seemed to fall on them at once. The hostess didn’t give a fuck, though, either too well-trained or not paid well enough to care that monsters were frequenting her restaurant.

“We have a reservation under Dreemurr,” Toriel said. Maybe the staff knew they were dealing with royalty, because they were led to a table almost immediately. They were actually going through with this, he thought, a little hysterical. No wonder Toriel was in a nice dress, and Asgore had gone without his gaudy polos and Dad shorts for once. It wasn’t black tie dress by any means, but clearly patrons were expected to look put together.

But neither of them had given him the memo. Papyrus was the shabbiest person in the restaurant by miles, and everyone could see it. When was the last time he had washed those shorts? And his hoodie had an obvious coffee stain down the front. Their table was tucked away in the back, but they still had to pass loads of well-dressed, staring humans to get there. Why had they both decided this was a good idea? Why hadn’t he washed some clothing along with his bedding?

Toriel pulled out his chair for him, and he blushed, dropping down into it. She had been smiling at him a lot, touching him lightly on the shoulder and back as they walked. Was he ever going to get used to having her attention?

The chairs, though they looked delicate, were strong enough to hold up under Asgore and Toriel’s weight. The table had an actual tablecloth, and not one made of plastic or paper. The water glasses looked so bright and clean that he was extremely glad he didn’t have fingerprints to leave on them. When the waiter brought out menus, at a glance he didn’t recognize anything on it. With a sinking feeling, he realized everything there was far above his budget; he couldn’t afford it. All monsters were pretty well off, coming to the Surface with so much gold, but Sans and Papyrus had agreed to put most of theirs in savings, so it could gain interest and be there in case of emergencies. He only spent paper money, these days, and he didn’t have much on him, expecting to go somewhere much cheaper. One of them would have to cover the bill. _Of course._

Suddenly Toriel was scooting her chair over, her bare and furry shoulder pressing against his. “They have some lovely dishes here, you know. Of course, we managed in the Underground perfectly well, but sunlight does wonders for crops.” She pointed at an appetizer halfway down his menu; he had no idea how it was pronounced, or what half of the description meant, too distracted by her presence beside him. “How about this? I think it’d be to your tastes.”

“Papyrus is an adult,” Asgore said, his voice brittle. “I do think he can order his own food.”

“I was merely making a suggestion,” she shot back, but at least it got her to move out of his personal space, in order to scowl at Asgore. “As I _have_ been here before and have tried some of it.” Honestly, her help would have been appreciated, but voicing that would have probably annoyed Asgore as much as it pleased Toriel. He skimmed the menu for a dish, or even an ingredient that looked familiar. There was pasta, that seemed straightforward enough. Not as expensive as most of the dishes there, since it didn’t have meat, just mushrooms and a plain sauce. Couldn’t go wrong with something like that.

Did the waitress sense the growing resentment over the table, as she took their orders? For her sake, he hoped she wouldn’t come over to check on them too often. Before she left, Toriel ordered a bottle of wine along with their water. Asgore was looking more and more grim as the waitress returned with wine glasses and began to pour.

“I don’t think wine is the best idea, right now,” Asgore said. The waitress faltered in her pouring, looking uneasy as Toriel gestured for her to keep going.

“You said it yourself, Papyrus _is_ an adult, he can drink if he wants to. Go ahead dear, it’s a lovely red. Humans make excellent liquor.” She nudged a wine glass a little closer to Papyrus, and he reluctantly picked it up. Between Asgore scowling and Toriel beaming at him, pretending her ex-husband wasn’t there, maybe a drink would sort him out or at least quiet the hum of potential conflicting orders.

He took a sip, trying not to shudder at how bitter it was. Asgore still caught his expression, snorting in disdain. “I thought as much. Not nearly sweet enough for you, is it? You don’t have to drink it, if you would rather not. ” He didn’t want to upset her, so he tried a little more, but the taste didn’t magically improve with experience. Somehow it was grosser than late-night shots at Muffet’s; he considered himself a connoisseur of trash booze, but maybe the fact that it was expensive and highbrow made the disappointment worse? A glass of wine wouldn’t have gotten him tipsy anyway, let alone drunk enough to deal with...this.

How was he supposed to take an entire meal of them sniping at each other, using him as potential ammunition? If it came down to it and they started slinging orders, Toriel’s would definitely take precedence, but it would be painful regardless. And they were already annoyed at each other, before the food had arrived.

His hopes that eating would keep them occupied were immediately dashed. Of course, they had asked him to come with an agenda in mind, but a guy could only hope. Initially he had been in a panic of _Oh shit, did Asgore tell Toriel about his failed seduction? Or maybe Toriel told Asgore about the other day? Had they compared notes on his sexuality?_ But it soon turned out that they had other, worse conversation topics in mind.

“How have you been, lately? It feels like, whenever you and I talk, it always becomes about _my_ life, and I never ask about you,” Toriel said, between bites of whatever her dish was. He honestly couldn’t identify it. “Tell us about your work.”

There...wasn’t much to say. The grocery store was okay, and he had a few decent coworkers, while the restaurant job was just dishes and busing tables, not too interesting. Papyrus didn’t have _stories_ the way they did, about Toriel’s students and Asgore’s clients. Not unless they wanted him to talk about the humans who dropped things (often messy, breakable things) and screamed, or ran away when they caught sight of him. That was about the only exciting anecdote he could think of. He tried to talk it up, regardless.

Toriel didn’t seem satisfied. “What about management opportunities? It’s not too early to seek out a leadership position. It’ll be very helpful for your future career.”

“Career? Um.” He couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly. _Sans_ was the one who had career plans, or he would eventually; the Surface had so many opportunities that he was still narrowing it down to just a few. Someday Papyrus knew his brother would become a scientist, or a chef, or anything he wanted. But when Papyrus tried to think of his own future, it was more of the same. The world would always need grocery clerks, right? It was a stable, safe choice, almost practical.

“Have you considered law enforcement, Papyrus? I do think it’d fit you, you’re very justice-oriented. And that is a line of work that could use more monsters.”

Was he actually ‘justice-oriented’? It seemed more like a trait forced on him than one he had naturally. Asgore seemed to have a similar disagreement, shaking his head. “There’s no need to put such restrictions on him. Papyrus can choose whatever path he’d like.” That made him feel like a babybones being told to follow his dreams by a preschool teacher, but Asgore seemed to mean well. “There’s no need to rush, either way. We are still new to the Surface, he has many years to make a choice.”

“Still, he would benefit from starting soon. The novelty of monsters gives him an advantage he won’t have in a year. And working in law would complement the skills Papyrus already has, as the Judge.” He shoveled more pasta into his mouth, to give himself a reprieve in case they expected him to weigh in. ‘Nope, sorry, can’t join in on this important conversation about my future, too busy chewing.’

He nearly choked a second later. “Papyrus’s role as Judge may well be over, now that we have been liberated. Perhaps it is time to let that part of his life end, so that another part can begin.”

Toriel looked horrified, and that expression was probably mirrored on him. He couldn’t just _stop_ , right? Was there a way to stop it, aside from dying and having another person take your place? For all that it was terrifying and unpleasant, Papyrus didn’t think he could give it up.

“You cannot be serious, Asgore! Are you honestly suggesting we let an important part of monster culture and tradition fade into obscurity? We had Judges on the Surface before our banishment, they were not a necessity of the Underground!” He fumbled for the wine glass again, taking a gulp. Not like they were paying much attention to him now, and he needed it. What was Asgore thinking?

The King soldiered on. “There’s no point in clinging to a tradition that doesn’t serve us. Now that we’re integrating into human culture, perhaps a Judge is unnecessary. Papyrus hasn’t had a case in months, and maybe he never will again.”

“This is ridiculous! I cannot believe you’d spit on ______’s memory in this way,” she said, and Papyrus froze, staring at her. Toriel had said something, he knew that. Her mouth had been moving the whole time, but he only heard a burst of static where the supposed name was.

Did he just have some sort of seizure? Toriel and Asgore clearly hadn’t heard it, starting to argue fervently, their words occasionally replaced by static.

As they kept going, more and more words were being swallowed up, and the pitch rose to a screech. His fork slipped out of his hand, as Toriel launched into a paragraph that occasionally yielded small understandable words: ‘he’, ‘the’, ‘and’. Everything else was a painful wave of noise, battering against him as they fought, seeming to forget he was there.

It felt like someone was crushing his Soul in their hand, like his bones were about to split apart. If he died here, it’d be hard to get his dust out of this nice carpet to give to Sans.

“Stop.” It was so quiet they must not have heard him; he certainly couldn’t hear himself. “Please stop, fuck. You’re hurting me, Your Majesties. _Please!_ ” He didn’t know what was going on, but clearly he was hallucinating, or they were using some horrible magic. Whatever it was, something was going wrong. His skull was close to bursting, his vision muddy and dim. He felt like he was going to throw up, the pasta sauce in his mouth going sour.

But at least they stopped talking, staring at him. Toriel pressed her napkin into Papyrus’s hand, though it took him a minute to realize why, before he used it to wipe at the tears streaming down his face, wincing at the orange stains it left on the cloth. No wonder the humans at the next table over were staring at him. Or was it because his begging had been loud enough to carry?

The waitress was leaning over them, looking from face to face. When had she gotten here? “Is everything alright? Can I get you anything?”

“More water, please.” Asgore nudged his half-empty glass towards him, and he took an uncertain sip, his hand rattling against the cup. “And your dessert menu, as well.” After she left: “I’m sorry, we were pushing too hard. Let’s get you something sweet to settle you out, alright?”

Soon she came back, and they plunked the menu in front of him. His vision was a blur, but he stared down at it anyway, unable to read it. It was just a smear of black and gold. What was he supposed to do?

“Papyrus?” There was Toriel leaning into his view, putting the water glass back in his slack hand. “Have another drink, you look faint. Is there anything that you’d like?”

Obediently, he took a drink, spilling a little down his front. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. His skull was ringing, getting louder whenever he moved. Were those humans whispering to each other about him? The waitress was definitely hovering not too far, and he felt a tinge of pity for her, having to deal with them. “I can’t think right now. Just...” He shoved the menu back at Asgore, rumpling the tablecloth. “Choose something for me. _Please._ ”

That was the wrong answer, it had to be, but he could barely drink and stay upright. Decisions were past him right now. Would Toriel be angry at him, that he didn’t ask _her_ to order for him? Papyrus pressed a sleeve against his sockets, and the dimness soothed his head a little. Asgore sighed, apparently waving over the waitress to order. He couldn’t hear what it was, but Asgore knew what he liked, right? It had to be okay, whatever it was.

He could feel them staring at him, apparently too worried to keep talking. Asgore’s hand soon fell on his back and Toriel’s on his knee. The latter made him wince, worrying that her touch would move higher, but it stayed where it was, rubbing little circles. He felt a little less like he was about to break apart with their hands on him, like they were holding him together.

“I hope this is acceptable,” Asgore said, when the waitress finally slid a plate in front of him. Crepes, covered in fruit and honey, with a scoop of icecream on the side. He could have kissed the former-King for it, but instead he tightened his shaking fingers around the fork and took a tentative bite.

The sugar definitely helped. His head was still ringing, and everything felt close and overwhelming, but the taste was something to cling onto. Hopefully he wasn’t going to throw it all up later.

Papyrus could have let it go. They certainly had, both going quiet and chastised, Toriel busying herself with her coffee and Asgore taking tiny, precise bites of the cheesecake he ordered. (He even cut off a little bit so Papyrus could try it.) He could have pretended nothing had happened.

But he was an idiot, that was well-established, and he couldn’t leave it alone. “So, uh...why couldn’t I hear most of what you two were just saying? What’s the deal with that?”

“Is that what you were experiencing?” They shared a look of concern. “Papyrus, judging from your reaction, I think it’s best if we leave your predecessor back in the Underground,” Asgore said, choosing each word carefully, watching Papyrus to see if any of them were painful. He couldn’t even revel in Asgore’s accidental pun. Why had his mind lit itself on fire the second they started talking about the previous Royal Judge? “Perhaps we should let this discussion settle, for a time.”

Toriel nodded. “Neither of us ever intends to hurt you, dear. How about we change the subject?”

And they tried. Talk of the weather, of monsters they knew and how they were managing on the Surface, of how Chara was doing, all of it subdued and punctuated by worried glances towards him. Luckily they only had to keep it up for a few more minutes, until their dessert ran out. At Toriel’s insistence, he got a to-go box for his half-eaten pasta, though Toriel had to carry it for him while Asgore led him out, too wobbly to walk without clinging to Asgore’s arm. They insisted on walking him back home. It was probably the rational thing to do, or he might have stumbled in front of a car or something.

*

He let Sans have the rest of the pasta, later, once he was lucid again. He couldn’t take more than a bite without feeling nauseated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 summary: divorcees bitching at each other over their shared boytoy, accidentally mindbreaking him a little. 
> 
> Also, this was initially going to be chapter 3, so I already had a lot written and I could finish it pretty quickly (by my slow standards). This is not my normal posting speed, and the next part will probably take a while. Even longer if I stop neglecting my other wips, sob. 
> 
> I wonder if it's obvious where this is going.


	5. Chapter 5

It felt like things were getting worse. More nightmares, more exhaustion at work, more concerned looks from his brother. How was he supposed to keep himself together like this? It felt like the Surface was chipping away at him, and he longed to be back in the mountain again. Not permanently, of course, but maybe a visit would settle him out. He could remember how calming it had felt the first time he went back, how all the tension drained out of his shoulders just from going into New Home. Visiting Snowdin might just fix him altogether.

Of course, he couldn’t help worrying about what Asgore had said the other week. “I think it’s best if we leave your predecessor back in the Underground.” _Technically_ it wasn’t an order forbidding him from the Underground entirely, right? It was just walking around a little, nothing to do with the past Judge. He wasn’t disobeying orders.

So, maybe Sans thought he had work all day, and he didn’t say anything to confirm or deny it. He had managed to trade shifts and get a completely free weekday, so he could spend a while in the Underground without having to rush back to the Surface. His brother slipped out the door that morning, ready for school and his own work and probably saving the world while he was at it, not seeming to suspect a thing. Papyrus made sure to lock up before teleporting out.

He doubted anyone climbed Mt. Ebott, even these days. The monster threat may have been gone, but, according to Chara and their knowledge of children’s gossip, apparently the mountain was haunted now, and few people bothered to brave that. There wasn’t anyone around to maintain the trails, not that he was going to take one of them.

He reappeared on the cliff where they had first emerged, staring out at the city and the morning sky for a bit. Entering from that point would be the easiest option, but maybe he could take a different route. It’d be faster to get to Snowdin that way, especially since he made up his mind to walk through the Underground, rather than shortcutting everywhere. He didn’t need to rush this.

Papyrus had never seen most of the Ruins, but they taught about it in Monster History classes, with photographs in the text books. He had a strong enough mental image to manage a shortcut there, to the very edge of the cavern. He appeared in a beam of light, with flowers under his feet. Was this where Chara had fallen? From Asgore’s stories about it, it seemed so, and he carefully made his way off the mound of grass without crushing too many flowers. No one had come back to transplant these, like the ones in the throne room. It was amazing they weren’t dying, without anyone to take care of them.

Though he’d been in Asgore’s home a few times, he had never gone past the tree outside the door, not wanting to run into any other monsters. Things were so monotonous in the Ruins that if a new monster showed up? Gossip for weeks. He knew there were puzzles, but it still made him pause when he reached the first one.

Aw, what the hell, why not do them? He could have skipped past them all, but it had been a while since he’d had a good puzzle. Humans never seemed to make big ones, for some reason. The labels and directions on the purple stone walls were faded but still legible—why not solve them? Levers, button pushing, spikes...

None of them were particularly difficult, but it was _fun._ He missed puzzles; Sans was so busy now that he never made any. Why bother if humans weren’t for catching anymore? Maybe Papyrus could convince him to make something in the backyard. Probably not anything with spikes or fire, might get in trouble with the neighbors, but maybe some block pushing? With every finished puzzle, he could feel himself smiling a little wider—an actual smile, not just a side effect that came from not having lips.

It didn’t take long to finish and he soon arrived at Asgore’s former home. He gave the dying tree a pat as he passed by, remembering the one picnic Asgore had offered to make for them under its branches. Just scones and tea while sitting on the leaf pile, a few falling down around them. It looked healthier now, actually managing to hold onto a few bright red leaves.

Of course, when everyone had moved to the surface, they took their belongings with them, and he walked into an empty house. No rugs on the floor, no furniture, everything bare. He didn’t feel quite as weird snooping, that way; there wasn’t much to look at, though he walked through the whole of it. There was a locked door that he paused to stare at, jiggling the doorknob, but everything else was open. It smelled stale, and his footsteps sounded strange in the empty space. All of Asgore’s energy had gone out of the house, and he was soon walking down to the exit.

He could already feel the cold of Snowdin, seeping in through the hallway. The first huge door was open completely, and the second one just a crack, barely enough to let in any snow through the gap. He put his shoulder to the stone and heaved.

...And promptly fell face first into the snow, overestimating how much effort it would take to open. He sputtered, feeling snow go up his eye sockets and nasal aperture, coating the front of his hoodie.

He couldn’t be that angry about it, though. Chara had reassured him that the Surface would eventually have snow, but that was still months away, and he had missed it more than he had realized. Maybe he didn’t brush off as much of it as he could have, as he started along the path. Papyrus slid along the patches of ice where he could, so he didn’t have to walk too much.

Almost all the familiar sights were missing. The item box was gone, and the stations had been dismantled and removed, without even a mark on the ground where they had once been. Most of the puzzles had been deactivated when everyone left, though Ball Game was still there, oddly enough. Papyrus spent a few minutes nudging the ball around until it finally fell into the hole with its usual jingle and a yellow flag. Somehow, though its creator wasn’t around anymore, it still spat out a few gold pieces as a prize.

He started to get an uneasy feeling, after a few minutes. Even as he was sliding rather than walking, he could hear footsteps in the snow, distantly. He had ducked off the main path to go visit the mushroom cave, where the door was still closed, and the mushrooms had gone dim, faintly squeaking but staying dark when he prodded them.

Papyrus came to a stop on the way back, leaning against the rock wall. Those definitely were footsteps, though they were delicate and light, probably a small monster. (...Could he assume it _was_ a monster?) Was it coming this way? Did he need to teleport to safety?

Going still, Papyrus pressed up against the rock despite his spine’s complaints, his teeth clenched. He listened to it coming closer...closer... Before Gyftrot stepped into view.

His sigh of relief was probably audible, as they stared at him in vague annoyance and disdain, shaking their head and making their way towards Papyrus with small, careful steps. He had forgotten about the few monsters that had stayed behind, walking around as if the Underground was completely empty.

He imagined the sort of people who had tormented Gyftrot in the past had all moved on, and they didn’t have a single decoration on them. They were watching him carefully as they passed by, probably expecting him to drape something around their antlers or slap on some googly eyes.

“Hey, uh...” Speaking up was probably a mistake, as they glared at him. Shit, why didn’t he decide what to say beforehand? “Are... are you guys doing okay, down here? Anything you want me to tell the Queen? You’re all still her subjects, doesn’t matter that she’s on the Surface now.” Papyrus _was_ a royal servant, more or less, and he could easily pass on a message (though first he’d have to admit he returned). Did the remaining monsters have enough food? Had any of them changed their minds and needed help relocating? He rummaged in his inventory, coming up with a squished snack cake. He made sure to open the plastic a little, knowing they’d probably struggle to open it without any hands, before offering it out. Wasn’t the best gift in the world, but the Gyftrot perked up, carefully taking it in their mouth and turning to set it on their back.

“Thank you, skeleton. The Underground is far more tolerable now, though I’ve missed getting presents. Very quiet. You can tell the Queen that at least I am very happy and there aren’t any problems. Can’t speak for the other monsters, though.” He nodded, and they made their way off, disappearing into the cave.

Huh. Maybe he needed to find more of the remaining monsters, while he was down here. Might as well do something besides wandering. He soon made his way to Snowdin Town, the banner remaining though the lights had been removed.

When they had finally left their house in Snowdin, Sans had locked it up, wistfully, patting the door. The lock had mostly been a formality in the years of friendly Snowdin, where everyone knew everyone and someone might drop in for a visit whenever to visit Sans. Papyrus still carried the key on him, though sometimes he got it mixed up with the key to their Surface house. It stuck in the lock a little, but eventually opened the door.

Of course, like with Asgore’s house, they had taken almost everything with them when they had moved out. The fridge and oven had been left behind, when they learned their new house already had them, and a few of the more battered tables. The Surface had much nicer ones than anything they could pull from the dump, even used. But otherwise it was empty, the carpet a little gritty underfoot without Sans obsessively vacuuming it. The second floor was completely bare, no reason to go up, but he still made his way up the stairs, to peek into Sans’s abandoned room, not sure what he was looking for. Who knew, maybe the little white dog was still hanging around? He certainly hadn’t seen it on the Surface.

Nothing there. But when they moved out, both of them had completely neglected the basement, Papyrus realized. Had Sans forgotten about it altogether, like Papyrus had, or just dismissed it as unimportant? He couldn’t remember the last time either of them had been down there, and it was pretty much unchanged, as he made his way down the stairs. They used to play down there as kids, but after a while, Sans just...didn’t like it, though he didn’t admit he was clearly creeped out by it. The lights were too dim, and wouldn’t Papyrus rather play in the snow?

It had a bunch of worn boxes from the previous owner stacked in the corners, mostly worn out bits of armor. You’d think Sans would be into that, considering how many years he longed for the Royal Guard, but as a child Papyrus could never convince him to play dress-up with any of it. Probably reasonable—Sans was a petite skeleton and most of those pieces looked like they were made for someone at least twice his size, too heavy to put on just for a lark.

They really should have gotten around to donating it _somewhere._ It could have been used as scrap metal, if no one needed actual armor. They weren’t going to do it now, obviously. It wasn’t like Sans would ever come back to the Underground, and he didn’t want to bother unpacking it all to shove in his inventory, never mind finding a place to take it. It’d probably sit there, in the basement, until the house collapsed on top of it, until the end of time.

He nearly turned away from all of it, uninterested, ready to move on. But there was one drawer slightly ajar, and when he looked over the room, it caught his attention and wouldn’t let go. Had they left something important in there? It’d only take a few seconds to look, right?

Almost all of the papers inside were faded to the point of illegibility. Again, probably left behind by the house’s previous owners. The lighting starting to give him a headache as he tried and failed to pick out any words, and he was about to stuff the papers back in the drawer and head up the stairs when he came to the last page.

It was a child’s crayon drawing on construction paper, three skeleton figures done in thick lines. A medium-sized blob in blue, a smaller one in orange and yellow stripes, and a much larger skeleton blob off to the side, done almost entirely in black and taking up the full length of the page. His signature, in a shaky approximation of his font, and the words ‘Don’t forget’ on the bottom.

What? It wasn’t that strange to find his old drawings; Sans had insisted on keeping a bunch of them on the fridge well into Papyrus’s teen years, until he begged to have them taken down out of embarrassment. Sans probably still had those pages tucked away somewhere. Crayons were difficult to get in the Underground, and usually if a pack fell into the dump, half were missing and the rest were broken, but Sans scrounged them up where he could. Papyrus would spend hours drawing and coloring until his fingers were stained with rainbows and the crayons were worn down to tiny nubs.

Obviously the smaller ones were himself and Sans, but who was the black figure? Maybe it was the Riverperson; Papyrus had always thought they were cool. When he was a kid, he had spent a lot of playing in the snow by that section of river so he could listen to them recite poems and riddles, waiting for passengers. He had never seen what they looked like under that hood, so depicting them as a skeleton had probably been the easiest route to take. He’d certainly drawn weirder things before, and the blobby approximation of clothing on the black figure could have been their robe. (He hoped they were enjoying the Surface and boating around humans, wherever they were.)

He had no idea what he had meant by ‘Don’t forget’, so clearly the message hadn’t worked. Probably just some little kid nonsense. It was cute, though; Sans would probably be thrilled that he found it, though he’d need to think up a reasonable lie so Sans didn’t know he had come back down here.

Carefully folding the page, he stuck it in his hoodie pocket and headed for the stairs, eagerly leaving the stale, dim room behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to do a few shorter chapters, due to Reasons, so hopefully they’ll be faster to finish. This chapter is a little slow, but things will start happening soon! I just have to get there first.


	6. Chapter 6

Papyrus was enjoying this walk more than he had expected, as he moved past the snow and into Waterfall. Taking a stroll through it, rather than blipping from point to point, was more nostalgic. And he _had_ gotten a lot of sleep, with the whole day to spend down there, so he might as well. Better to save his teleports for when he needed them—no use wasting them all and getting stuck on the mountain. He had some food, so the worst case scenario would probably still be fine, but why not be cautious?

Arguably, he had missed Waterfall even more than Snowdin. The sound of the streams always soothed some frantic part of him, and of course, there were the flowers. All the attempts to grow Echo Flowers on the Surface had yet to come through, and he wondered if they would ever work. Asgore had told him about the experiments people had done (intensive watering to imitate Waterfall’s climate, attempts at using greenhouses, magic infusions), but nothing successful yet. Some of the ones on the path had messages from people as they left for good, excitedly talking about getting to see the sky, the ocean. It was pretty cute, and he made sure not to make too much noise as he walked.

He didn’t realize something was off until he wandered along a side path, which only held grass and gently swaying flowers. Flowers that didn’t have any sound at all, he realized after a few minutes.

Echo Flowers couldn’t erase themselves if a sound appeared on them. There were a few flowers that had messages from decades ago, still repeating them as if it was the same day. There were the ones that bloomed on the little islands in the rivers, where they were usually undisturbed unless someone swam out to them. Even so, if no one talked to them, they captured the sounds of grass rustling or the water running by.

But the ones off the path were completely silent, failing to pick up his footsteps as he paced around them. Maybe they were dying? He would have guessed maybe they weren’t fully grown yet, but he could have sworn he had seen just-bloomed Echo Flowers start to repeat sounds before, if in a whisper.

The _appeal_ of Waterfall was all the stored noise, and he backed away from the silent patch of flowers, feeling cold and uncomfortable. Immediately, when he was back in a cloud of chatter and footsteps, he didn’t feel as disturbed.

He wanted to try something, though, taking a brief hop of a shortcut backwards. There was an alcove off the main part of Waterfall, one that he doubted anyone else ever visited. Sometimes he would go there on break, knowing that Alphys wouldn’t come looking there. She never bothered with the flower puzzles (not enough explosions or spikes), and it wasn’t like she was going to swim there in armor, so he didn’t have to worry about being caught. Just a bench, some crystals in the wall to look at, and a single Echo Flower. Sometimes he would whisper to it while eating lunch or having a smoke. Sometimes practicing jokes, sometimes...other things.

His own Echo Flower, the one only he had spoken to, didn’t say a word to him. He couldn’t remember what it used to repeat, it had been months after all, but it was totally erased.

That couldn’t be possible. He slid off the bench, kneeling on the ground next to the flower. Asgore had taught him a little about Echo Flowers, as much as he could without a physical example. The roots looked okay, from his amateur viewpoint, and the petals were full, not wilted. As far as he could tell, it was a perfectly healthy specimen, just bizarrely silent.

He leaned in, his teeth nearly brushing the closest petal, though he didn’t really want to touch it. Already, based on it not picking up his footsteps, he knew it was useless, but... “Hello? Anything?”

Not a sound.

It was _fucking weird_ , to put it delicately, and he quickly returned to the main path. Maybe it had something to do with the monsters leaving the Underground. Were they magic-deprived now? _Did_ Echo Flowers run on magic? He would have assumed they generated their own, but it was possible the presence of monsters had given them a boost they didn’t have anymore. Maybe someday all the messages would fade out completely.

That theory didn’t make him feel any less uncomfortable, though, and he headed on. Were the patches of flowers in the water silent as well? He always loved Waterfall, but he found himself walking a little faster.

*

When he heard the laughter, just past the deteriorating statue, Papyrus initially assumed it was another flower, one that was actually functioning. But it didn’t loop the way he expected, and there was splashing as well, louder than the gentle, endless rain. He walked a little further and stopped, the lollipop in his mouth nearly tumbling out as his jaw went slack.

There was a little kid in gray and white stripes, running around in the puddles with an umbrella held over their head. It didn’t seem to do much to shield them, from how much they were spinning and twirling it, but they didn’t seem to mind the rain on their fur. With every jump into a puddle, they soaked their legs even more. They looked a lot like that one kid in Snowdin, what was his name? Asriel. One of Sans’s biggest fans, who had taken to running around with a blue cloth wrapped around his neck, peeking around buildings to get a glimpse of his idol. Similar to a boss monster, goat-like, his parents distantly related to the Dreemurrs. But while Asriel was off-white, this kid was gray-furred. Maybe a cousin? They looked awfully similar.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d already seen Gyftrot, this was just another monster who had stayed behind. But... Where were this kid’s parents? He could understand a lone adult deciding to stay down here, but a child deserved to see the stars, didn’t they?

Papyrus took a step forward, intending to call out to the kid, to ask how they were doing down here. But he wasn’t looking down when he did it, stumbling into a puddle that looked much shallower than it actually was, with a loud splash. The kid jerked in surprise and ran off with the umbrella over their shoulder, shielding most of their body. Before he could get any closer, they had already turned around the corner and out of sight.

Oh well. Maybe they were just really shy, and that was why they and their family had stayed underground. (Shit, hopefully they weren’t down here alone.) No use chasing after someone who clearly didn’t want to talk.

The can of umbrellas was still there, but they were starting to grow some weird mold. Whoever had done the upkeep had obviously left, and a few faded umbrellas weren’t important enough to take. Papyrus let them be. The rain had never bothered him in the past; Surface rain was great, sure, but the droplets falling down on him smelled a lot nicer, less polluted. His jacket would dry out once he got to Hotland, so a few drops on the skull wouldn’t hurt him.

He sighed as he left the tunnel, seeing the castle in the distance and taking a minute just to look and think about his next move. The next part of Waterfall he would have to skip, without a ferry, the Riverperson, or the deeply determined bird to carry him through. Might as well pass up the dump entirely, so he wouldn’t come home smelling like garbage and filthy water. Some trash probably still fell into the dump, now and then, but now that the monsters had come up, there was a lot of fuss about ‘more sustainable waste disposal’, so he imagined there wasn’t much there anymore.

He landed on the path that led up to Alphys’s and the ghost houses. The former was still scorched from the fire she had started with Chara; why bother fixing it up, when she could just take her possessions (what had survived the fire, anyway) and leave it behind for the surface? He headed along the path to the right, feeling a little better when the Echo Flowers on either side were in working order.

His steps didn’t slow as he entered the darkened rooms. The lights didn’t activate when he tapped them, but he’d spent enough time navigating it in the past (too lazy to use the lanterns and mushrooms, sometimes) to know the path in the dark, so long as he went slowly. He and Sans would sometimes play there when they were children, so it was easy to remember where he was going. Down, then right, go straight, then left...

He stopped, hearing a brief scuffle in the grass. Was there something behind him? It was ridiculous to get paranoid over noises, knowing that one of the remaining monsters had probably seen him and was curious, but his Soul twinged painfully. It was too dark to see anything...

“Howdy!” He jumped back a little, already laughing halfway through. He knelt down, where a little yellow flower had popped out of the ground, bullets hovering around it to give off a faint bit of light. Of course. The Floweys couldn’t just leave, right? And he was right by their village.

He hadn’t thought about what would happen to them, and apparently no one else had. Did their roots keep them from leaving? He wasn’t sure how a transplant would work, but maybe he could bring it up to Asgore. They could get a team together and take down some temporary flowerpots to carry the Floweys out and up to the soil surrounding Mt. Ebott. He wasn’t sure how deep their roots went, but maybe it was an option. More of them sprouted up around his feet as he walked into their home, chattering over each other. He had to wonder if they’d had any interactions with other monsters since the Barrier broke. Were they all lonely?

“Hey there little _buds_. What’s up?”

They all started talking at once, clustering around him. Introducing themselves (Flowey, Flowey, Flowey...and Jeff), trying to sell him stuff, a lot of their usual talk. He fished out the coins he had won from Ball Game in exchange for a little bag of pollen, and the vendor cheered. (He’d tried it out as a teen, but the stuff didn’t have any intoxicating qualities that he could find, despite his many experiments. At least it smelled nice, and it was cheap.) He was probably their first customer in months, no wonder they had taken a _lichen_ to him.

It was time for a break. Papyrus settled on the ground against the side of that enormous, goofy statue, making sure he didn't sit on a Flowey by accident. He took a water bottle out of his inventory, taking a gulp and watering a few that demanded it, wiggling their petals at him. He considered telling them about the Surface, maybe showing them one of the shitty sunset pictures he had taken with his phone, but it felt too much like a promise.

No sense in getting them excited, just to fuck things up and let them down.

*

The nostalgia did fade a little, when faced with the oppressive wall of heat that Hotland offered. It was never his favorite part of the Underground, though he made good money off of the cotton candy he used to sell. The lab had been locked up, so he headed up to the elevator rather than through it. He’d have to go back around and take a look by the paths on the other side of the lab if he wanted to check for any monsters, though he was pretty sure most of the residents of Hotland were more interested in the sun than staying down here.

The elevator seemed to take a while, grinding its way up, and when the door slide open, he jumped back a little, back hitting the far wall of the elevator.

There was a person there. A grayish, feline monster, staring at something in their hand and rocking back and forth on their heels. They obviously noticed him, straightening up as he inched out of the elevator, but they didn’t look his way.

It felt...familiar, somehow. Usually that was just the aftereffect of being a sentry and a sales vendor. Papyrus ran into a lot of people on a normal day in the Underground, and he was pretty good with faces, though the names didn’t stick as well. But this didn’t feel like that. He would have sworn this person had never approached him in his life, but there was something like a memory just outside of his reach.

They laughed softly to themself. “Hello, Papyrus. How has dear Alphys been doing, these days?”

“How do you know—”

They kept talking, as if he hadn’t said anything. “Has she been well, on the Surface? The old Captain of the Royal Guard has been asking about her, even though he vanished without a trace. They say he shattered across time and space. Isn’t that strange? I’m holding a piece of him right here. Would you like to take a look, Papyrus?”

Papyrus took an unsteady step forward, squinting towards whatever it was they were holding. He couldn’t tell what it was; the object was obscured by their fingers and the shadow of their body. His vision skipped away from it, but he tried to force himself to look. Before he could get close enough to see over their shoulder, they vanished. And not a teleport, either; he would have been able to sense how that kind of magic felt, after so many years of using it himself. It was like they had stopped existing altogether.

Who the fuck _was_ that? What did they mean when they mentioned the old Captain of the Guard? Other kids obsessed over the Guard, and the really dedicated ones drew trading cards for each member, but Papyrus never cared that much about it when he was little. He had no idea who had been the Captain before Alphys took the position. Maybe he could ask Sans about it, but why bother? That gray monster was probably just rambling, the sudden emptiness of the Underground getting to them.

Or maybe Papyrus had heat stroke and was hallucinating the guy.

The Delta Rune on his wrist twinged a bit, and he glanced down at it, rubbing at the bone. Was it angry at him for being so far from his King and Queen? Maybe he needed to hurry up, or leave the Capital for another day. Go home, have a nap, dinner with Sans, text Asgore about the Floweys...

He walked forward, looking over his shoulder at the spot where they had stood, and immediately ran into someone else.

They were just a giant gray head, springing up out of the ground. They fixed their single eye on him, grinning widely. “Hello, Papyrus.” Why did he keep getting such familiar feelings from these monsters, and why did both of them seem to know him? He was sure he would have remembered seeing this one. “You understand why Toriel waited so long to hire a new leader of the Royal Guard, don’t you? The previous one...Captain Gaster. His dedication was irreplaceable. However, his life...Was cut short. One day, his patrol went wrong, and...Well, I needn’t gossip. After all, it’s rude to talk about someone who’s listening. You know that better than anyone, isn’t that right, Papyrus?”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, buddy,” Papyrus managed to choke out. His ribs felt constricted, and the heat was starting to make him dizzy, breathless. Why was he getting so freaked out? They were just crazy and babbling; they hadn’t tried to approach or attack him. There wasn’t any reason for him to respond like this.

Their smile looked increasingly strained. “Are you sure about that? It would be terribly silly to anger someone who doesn’t exist, after all. He’s already angry enough. Keep that in mind.”

Was that a threat? A cryptic nonsense threat, maybe, but that didn’t make him feel any better. In lieu of a response (hard to think of anything other than “what the fuck”), he settled for a baffled look with some shrugging. This one didn’t vanish like the other one, not immediately. They stayed in sight, watching him intently with that uncomfortable smile as he sidestepped away from them, not wanting to turn his back.

Apparently Hotland had gone to shit since the Barrier broke.

*

It was odd, walking into the hotel lobby now that the nightclub was silent and everyone was gone. He doubted any monsters still lived in the hotel, now that the lights were off. The water in the fountain had developed a gross film on the top, and the floors were covered in grime—no one to clean it up after the exodus, all those Hotland monsters trekking through on their way out. No air conditioning either, so it wasn’t much of a reprieve from outside.

He headed straight for the elevator, and... it wasn’t working. He poked at the button, as if trying again or harder would somehow fix it. The panel didn’t light up and there wasn’t anyone in it, as far as he could tell. Had they shut these elevators down completely, like everything else? Maybe there weren’t enough people going from the Capital to the rest of the Underground to consider it a worthwhile use of resources. Maybe it only worked at a specific time of day.

Papyrus would have to go through instead, though he never liked going into the Core. It still gave out a little power to the few monsters remaining, and from what he understood, it was near-impossible to completely stop it. The magic it gave off tended to muddle with his shortcuts if he used one too close—not enough to stop them altogether, but it would leave him feeling sick and uncomfortable when he reached the other side. It was powered down now, but not completely, and he would have to head back into the sweltering heat if he wanted a normal shortcut. That didn’t feel worth it, considering the type of weirdos that apparently wandered Hotland.

The Core had a fraction of its past glowing and humming, a lot more tolerable than before, but it still made his teeth hurt as he walked through the entrance and stepped inside. At least the lasers were off, and there wasn’t anyone around to switch up the maze. He’d heard gossip in the nightclub between comedy shows of workers getting lost in the middle of their shift, because their coworkers were _shifting_ it at that very moment. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get lost anyway...

And of course, he did. The panels that might have held directions once were all turned off, and there was nothing to guide him. It felt like he had found pretty much every dead-end room in the Core, with no indication of what they were used for. No tables, no leftover equipment, just tiny, completely empty rooms.

He never noticed before that some of the walkways of the Core didn’t have railings. What sadist had designed this place, anyway? Maybe, when people still worked here, they used energy barriers to keep people from falling, like the ones around the conveyor belts in Hotland. But if that was true, they were gone now. All he had to do was walk a few feet to the side, and he’d fall into that humming light... It would be so easy, just a few steps...

Papyrus stopped, fists clenching in his hoodie pocket. He was only half-way across, and it wasn’t that long of a walkway until the next room. But what if the next didn’t have railings either? It was possible he wasn’t on the right path anyway.

He shuffled forward, just an inch. Was the glow underneath him changing, or was it just bright enough to mess with his vision? Another pitiful step. The humming was really loud. Had the workers all worn ear protection? Not that he _had_ ears, but it felt like it was compressing his skull, vibrating down his spine. He lifted his foot, but couldn’t move it forward, setting it back down.

Did the hum sound like words? Man, he had definitely been in here too long, if it was messing with him this badly. Losing his goddamn marbles.

As he forced himself to take another tiny step, Papyrus felt himself leaning to one side. He didn’t _want_ to, but it felt like he was being tugged away from the middle of the path, like his pockets on that side were full of rocks. The light below had changed, blobs of darker color rising to the top, and he stared down at it.

What would happen if he fell? Was it hot enough to kill him instantly, or would he plummet to whatever bottom was down there, his bones cracking on impact? How would dying feel? Would his dust burn away, or just scatter? All he had to do was keep walking at this angle, and he’d fall right down into the Core.

Papyrus swayed, and his knees thudded to the walkway, the metal sending shocks of pain up his legs. He held himself up with shaking hands, trying to cling to the floor (cold despite the heat below, too smooth, barely any cracks or handholds to grab) when his body traitorously started to shuffle its way closer to the edge, inch by horrifying inch. The sound grew louder, as heavy as blue magic, sounding more and more like his name slowed down so much it was barely recognizable.

If he fell, Sans would never know what happened. If he fell, he would have failed Toriel and Asgore. He would never get to see what Surface snow looked like or a solar eclipse or his brother’s graduation if he fell. So why was he still moving towards the edge?

“Please,” Papyrus mumbled. There was no one to say it to, but he couldn’t help the words spilling out. He could barely hear his own voice over the droning Core. “I don’t want to jump.”

It didn’t matter. All the begging in the world (and there was plenty of it, _I’m sorry, I don’t want to, please don’t do this to me_ ) had no effect on whatever force was pulling his body closer. Somehow, it was worse for how slow it was, taking its time rather than dragging him over the edge in one go. He had the feeling it, whatever ‘it’ was, could have done it faster and was choosing to do it this way. His pitiful grip on the walkway was starting to weaken.

“Papyrus! Papyrus, stop there, you idiot!”

Immediately he went still, all of his bones straining not to even twitch. He couldn’t move away from the edge, and one of his knees was still partially hanging out into empty air; he hadn’t regained control of his body, it had just been passed over to someone else.

A tiny, sneering monster made its way down the walkway towards him: white-furred and dark-haired at the same time, small enough that it would barely reach his knees if he was standing, wearing a striped shirt. A kid? He couldn’t remember why, but he got a twinge of familiarity as it approached. He felt weird mentally saying ‘it’ rather than ‘they’, but it looked more and more unnatural as it approached; there were strange seams in its body, like it was an object brought to life, rather than a monster.

The brand on his wrist began to burn. He waited for another command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The maps for the Underground continue to be convoluted and frustrating, and this chapter was unnecessarily difficult to write. I’m still not totally happy with it. 
> 
> Double pistols and a wink to Sora for their excellent Temmie ideas, which I will soon be butchering.


	7. Chapter 7

It was like something out of a dream. He would wake up soon, right? He had to. Nothing about it made any sense: what looked like a living plushie giving him an order, him _responding_ to that order, everything overly bright and reeking of ozone... Either a dream or he was going completely insane.

His body was starting to hurt, staying in that position while this...monster? Creature? While _it_ looked him over with a sneer. “What are you even doing here?”

“I—”

“I wasn’t _asking_ you, idiot! Get up already.” He did, his bones shaking and creaking audibly—he could hear them now, with the sound of the Core receding. The air didn’t feel quite as heavy as it did a minute ago. Whatever force had been dragging him to the edge had dissipated.

“Now take us to New Home.” It pressed up against his ankles so that it would stay in contact while he teleported them both. How did it already know he needed to touch someone to bring them along as a passenger?

His shortcut spilled them out onto the threshold, Papyrus doubling over. Shortcutting out of the Core with someone else? If it hadn’t been an order, he would have definitely refused. He couldn’t remember the last time it had felt this bad, a sticky nausea spreading through him, his head ringing. The shortcut didn’t seem to effect the creature, who left him slumped against the wall and fighting not to pass out. As he watched, it headed down the hallway, to the one locked door, the one he had always been curious about.

With its size, it couldn’t reach the knob itself, and no amount of magical pulling and tugging made it any less locked. It huffed. “C’mere and teleport us inside, then, so we can unlock it. God, this is tedious. Hurry up!” Each step hurt, but he staggered forward anyway. Luckily this one was a shortcut of just a few feet, or he might have passed out in the act. As it was, he barely had time to unlock the door (he did not want to be trapped in here with whatever this was) before he had to sit down.

It was a children’s room, fully furnished: scribbled drawings pinned up on the walls, brittle with age; musty plush toys; faded quilts on child-sized beds. It looked like Toriel had left it perfectly intact when she left, a centuries-old time capsule. It must have been the room of the royal princen and their adopted sibling.

Sitting on one of those tiny beds felt wrong, like a desecration, so he slumped down on the carpet, trying to catch his breath. It didn’t seem to share the sentiment, hopping onto the bed across from him and staring down at him uncomfortably.

What was this thing? His rune clearly responded to it, though not with the strength and fervor that Toriel and Asgore earned. It had been a while since he had been given such clear orders, and his body had fallen into it so easily, no thought required. But his mind was starting to come back enough that he could wonder what the fuck was going on, what he had gotten himself into. “So, who’re you?”

It did an odd sort of preening, brushing its hair back with one paw. “You can call me _Your Majesty—_ ”

“N o.” Almost before it had finished the word, his mind rejected the idea. Whatever this was, though it had power over him, it couldn’t claim the rank of the King or Queen. It would be an unforgivable insult to them to call it Majesty, or to even consider the idea.

“Ugh, fine. It was worth a try. I’m Temmie.” There wasn’t any need for him to introduce himself since it already knew his name. Had they met before? He was sure he would’ve remembered something like this, though he realized he had been thinking that a lot today. The alternative was someone else telling this...thing about him. Neither option was particularly comforting. He was getting tired of running into weirdos who acted like they knew him.

“Welp, nice meeting you Temmie,” Papyrus forced out, pulling himself to his feet and trying not to let the movement look as painful and difficult as it felt. “Good talk, but I’d better get going—”

“ **Sit down**.”

He dropped back onto the floor, landing so hard that it felt like he had cracked his coccyx despite the thick carpet. Its face had contorted into a jagged, blackened smile that seemed to split its face open, pupils shrinking into trembling pinpricks. He stared up at it, trying to focus. “You don’t leave unless I tell you it’s okay to leave, got it?”

And then, absurdly, it let out a flat, unconvincing giggle, though it was still grinning horribly. Its voice seemed to become even more shrill than its natural high level, and as it spoke, its volume shifted bizarrely, going from normal to almost yelling, at times between syllables. “Don’t you want to stay a while longer? Tell me a story about the Surface, Papyrus!”

“Uh. About what?”

“Anything! Just start talking. I wanna know about all of it.” It was still using that unnatural shriek of a voice, so maybe if he talked enough, it wouldn’t get a chance to chime in with more commands. A bit of storytelling wasn’t so taxing, right?

*

(On a whim, while he tried to describe how the human city looked, Papyrus reached out and Checked Temmie. It seemed so enthralled by Papyrus’s words that he thought he could get away with it. Luckily it seemed to be easily amused. Why not just go to the Surface, if it was so interested in the outside world? The exit was only a few minutes away.

But there was just...nothing there, to the point that he thought his magic wasn’t working and tried again. But Temmie didn’t seem to _have_ stats, just a blank void where they would normally be. No attack, no defense. Instead of a comforting 0 EXP and 1 LV, there was emptiness, like all that important data had been erased. Could he just not see its stats, or did they not exist at all?

Everyone had stats. On the Surface, despite not having any cases, Papyrus often checked the humans around him. He _had_ to; couldn’t let his brother walk off with a human who had killed someone. Even if he couldn’t perform trials anymore, now that they were on the Surface with a new (and convoluted) judicial system, the habit remained. For there to be a being that didn’t have those essential numbers at all... He felt himself reeling, unsure of how to deal with someone he couldn’t adequately Judge. Shit, if this thing had killed people, how would he know? Would he be able to stop it if it did decide to head to the Surface?

Checking someone was an easily detected type of magic, which usually felt like a faint prickling sensation, enough to be noticeable without discomfort. And, for all of its clear deficiencies, Temmie noticed. “Stop that! Geez, you’re so rude, didn’t anyone teach you better?” He didn’t like how it said that, a potential dig against his brother. Did it know Sans?

The same feeling now covered him, heavier than usual. Not the light magic of his brother checking on his health (“Just to be sure, we don’t want you getting sick!”, as if it justified Sans doing it five, ten, twenty times a day), or the brief, friendly checks of monsters passing each other by, as much a greeting as saying hello. Temmie’s Check weighed down on him, stinging like he’d had a box of needles dumped out over his head. It didn’t care about his flavor text or any of his stats other than his HP, artificially boosted through sleep as usual. Temmie tilted its head, seemed to mull something over for a second, then launched a single star-shaped bullet into the air and straight at Papyrus’s patella, fast enough that he couldn’t dodge while still sitting.

It ignored his muffled cursing, his flinch back against the bed, clutching his knee with both hands. The attack took off a quarter of his HP exactly, barely anything for a normal monster, but even at his best, Papyrus didn’t have much. If he was having trouble walking _before_...

“Don’t do that again,” Temmie said cheerfully. “Keep going.”

He had no idea what to do with his newfound information, so he pushed down the pain and kept talking. All he could do, really.)

*

It seemed like there was only so much storytelling Temmie could stand, despite being the one to demand it. It flopped over on the bed, rubbing its face into the pillow there. “Bleh, shut up,” Temmie snapped, in the middle of an explanation on what different Surface trees looked like. He was almost grateful to be silenced, his voice starting to give out after so much talking. “That’s enough.”

It studied him, head propped up with one paw. “This isn’t over, though. I want you back here, trashbag, it’s not a one-time thing. Maybe... Wednesday. Come back on Wednesday morning. I’ll be waiting in the throne room.”

And just like that, it let him go. When he stared at it, it gestured him away with one paw, a silent but clear _leave,_ and he hurried to get away before it could change its mind. Papyrus limped down the stairs and towards the throne room, too unsteady to shortcut, despite that long rest, if it could be called that. The whole way he kept glancing back, wondering if it was following.

He would have guessed only a few hours had passed, but it was well into nighttime when he emerged, almost midnight. Papyrus found a sizable rock to sit on, to take his weight off his knee, while he checked his phone. He had left it off, not expecting to be down there for so long and wanting to go undisturbed. Apparently that had not been the smartest move.

...There were a _lot_ of messages, and not just from Sans. The first half dozen were from his brother, starting with an innocuous ‘what should we have for dinner’, which he had sent while Papyrus was trekking through Snowdin. It all went downhill from there. Though Sans scolded him for it, Papyrus usually could duck to the bathroom during work to answer his messages. When Sans didn’t get a reply for a few hours, he clearly realized something was up.

Then messages from other people started showing up. No doubt Sans contacted all their friends to find out what was going on, like the last time Papyrus had gone missing. Alphys in all capitals, demanding to know why he wasn’t answering. Undyne, who used fewer and fewer of her usual cute emotes as her texts piled up, asking if he was okay. He was sure she had probably pinged him online as well, not that he usually answered or checked his Undernet messages these days. She had probably worked herself into a panic.

And, only an hour ago, while he was still trying to entertain Temmie, Asgore had sent him a voicemail. He must have considered this a big enough deal to do that instead of fumbling through a text.

The message itself wasn’t that bad: “Papyrus, your brother called me a few minutes ago, wondering where you were. He seemed rather worried, so I think you should contact him soon, if you’re not busy. Be well, my friend.” But he had a sad, slow Dad voice going on, concerned and a little disappointed, and it made Papyrus shudder. It was almost an order, about as close as Asgore ever got, and it started to tug gently at his mind: _Return home, the King wants you to! Move!_

He tried to ignore it, if only for a few minutes. Tearing open one of the wrapped pastries in his jacket pocket, he took a bite, feeling his HP return. The pain receded to a mere annoyance. Hopefully it would be enough to keep him from limping once he got home—there would be no end to Sans’s fussing if he came back visibly injured. He listened to the voicemail again.

Maybe he could tell Asgore what had happened. Whatever Temmie was, its influence on the Delta Rune wasn’t nearly as strong. A contradicting order could cancel it out, and he wouldn’t ever have to go back, right? But Wednesday wasn’t so far off, and the idea of telling Asgore made him feel nauseated. If telling Asgore would be hard, then Toriel definitely wasn’t an option. He couldn’t imagine how the King might react to Papyrus wandering around the empty Underground. Pity, most likely. Concern. He didn’t know what he’d do if Asgore forbid him from returning for his own good.

Up on the mountain, the night air was a lot colder than he had expected, slicing through his hoodie and making him rattle softly. That had to be it: not the Underground or the Core or weird monsters. He was shaking because of the cold, of course.

*

There was only so much time he could waste, staring at the sky and the city spread out below, his mind blank. He took a shortcut off Mt. Ebott, landing a few minutes down their street. Even from there, he could see all the lights on, the house a blaring light among its darkened neighbors. His phone shook with another text, and he clenched his fists to keep from checking it.

_Sans was going to be pissed._

He had a brief thought that maybe he could just...go somewhere else for a while, and hope that the situation would resolve itself with inaction, but he dismissed it as stupid. No use in delaying the inevitable and making things worse by running away like a little kid. He trudged his way down the sidewalk and up their drive, feeling himself getting more tense as he faltered, hand reaching out to the doorknob.

His nonexistent stomach plummeted when he walked in. Alphys was sitting on the couch, and she immediately caught sight of him, a snarl forming on her snout. “Where the hell have you been, you asshole?! Your brother’s been waiting up, worried sick about you—”

“Alphys.” Sans came out of the kitchen, a mug in his hands. Both his voice and his expression were uncomfortably placid. “It’s fine, you don’t need to yell.” He held the mug out to her, but she shook her head, getting to her feet.

“Nah, you drink it, I’m good. I’m gonna head out, now that he’s back. Night, dude.” With another scalding glare at Papyrus and a slap to Sans’s back, she headed for the door, leaving the house silent and increasingly cold.

Sans started to sip (was it coffee or hot chocolate? had he really driven his ‘No caffeine after 7pm!’ brother into drinking coffee?), giving him a measured look. Waiting for Papyrus to break and tell him what was going on. Had he had passed the panic stage and gone straight into Brotherly Disappointment? No—if Papyrus looked really close, he could see his brother trembling faintly. He wasn’t calm, he was just trying to hold himself back.

“You’re not wearing your uniform, so you weren’t at work this whole time. I called Muffet, and you weren’t at the café—you didn’t show up at all today. You weren’t with Asgore, or Toriel. I _called_ Toriel, of all people. Toriel! The Queen! I was so out of my mind with panic that I probably made a ninny of myself! It was an absolute travesty. But she had no idea where you were either. No one knew. What’s the excuse this time, Papyrus? Is this going to become a habit?”

He should have prepared a lie on the way there, something that would have made Sans happy. A new friend, a social meeting, maybe even a date. Since Sans had probably called everyone they knew, only a novel (fictional) person would work. But he fumbled over those thoughts, unable to think of anything convincing with that stare on him. And Sans would inevitably want proof Papyrus couldn’t fabricate, names, contact info.

Instead, he just shrugged. “I’m sorry bro. I lost track of time, didn’t mean to be late and make you worry. My phone was off.” All true technically, but it was a sparse answer, and he regretted the words right as they left his mouth, wishing he had gone for the comforting lie instead.

Sans growled, fists clenched around the mug, practically strangling it. Huge blue tears were starting to build up in his sockets, and Papyrus wanted nothing more to flee. If Sans was at the point of crying, he must have been _furious_. “I know you’re an adult Papy! I’m not trying to smother you, but I get so worried, okay?! The Surface is a big place, and if you wander off, I won’t be able to find you. What if a human hurt you, or you got hit by a car, and I had no idea where you were? Please, if you’re going to keep disappearing for hours at a time, just leave a note! Send me a text! _Something_.”

Sans tried to sniff back his tears, but they finally spilled down his cheekbones, staining the bone faintly blue. Carefully, ready to flinch back if Sans started yelling again or worse, Papyrus inched closer, easing the mug out of his brother’s hands and setting it aside before going in for a hug. Only a few seconds of squeezing and Sans was already wrapping his arms around him—he could never resist a hug. “I j-just don’t want something bad to happen to you,” he whispered into the front of Papyrus’s hoodie, already starting to get soggy with tears.

“I know.” He considered telling Sans about Temmie, but that would probably hurt more than it helped. He couldn’t imagine Sans would want to let him back into the mountain, but with those orders, he might do whatever was necessary to return to Temmie, regardless of whether Sans was standing in the way. For any of it to make sense, he’d have to tell Sans about being the Judge too. His brother was better off not knowing.

Papyrus decided to appeal to his sentimental side instead. “It’s just...we’ve been dreaming about the Surface for so long, bro. There’s so much cool shit that sometimes I just get caught up in it all, but I should have kept my phone on.”

“Don’t swear,” Sans mumbled with a shaky laugh, letting go of Papyrus to wipe at his face. He didn’t want to lose that contact, but he willingly let his arms fall. “And you’re going to get extra chore duty for this.” Not that Papyrus usually did more than the bare minimum of his section on their chore sheet, but _maybe_ he would try to muster the effort for once, if it would make Sans happy.

That apology wasn’t enough, he could tell. Sans didn’t try to smile, or come back for another hug, or ask him what cool Surface thing had kept his attention for so long. He wandered off to bed instead, still sniffling, turning off the lights as he went and leaving Papyrus alone in the kitchen. Didn’t say goodnight, didn’t remind him of the dinner waiting for him in the fridge. He made sure to eat quietly and not make any noise while heading back to his room, not wanting to upset his brother more. There wouldn’t be any bedtime rituals that night, no tea or warm milk, no stories. It was what he deserved, but it still sucked. He had to resist the urge to go beg for forgiveness.

Sans would be back to normal in the morning, Papyrus told himself, as he collapsed on his mattress and squirmed under the tangled sheets, still dressed. Even their worst fights never lasted too long. It wouldn’t help him sleep any easier _now_ , but tomorrow would be okay. And tomorrow wasn’t Wednesday, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of feels like a filler chapter, but I think I'm getting somewhere, just very slowly. I'm in awe of people who can write 100k+ stuff, I can barely keep track of this and my outline is a cluttered mess. I guess this is good practice though? 
> 
> ...When can I get back to the horrible sexy stuff?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a warning for unintentional gaslighting in this chapter? It's kind of ambiguous which is why I haven't added it to the tags yet.

It was a sunny morning, bright and warm, punctuated by bird song and the tinny whir of Sans’s blender. He was trying health smoothies this week, murky green concoctions that Papyrus kept turning down. Maybe it had its benefits, based on how energetic Sans was, but it looked like pond scum at best. He teased his brother mercilessly, dodging away whenever Sans pushed the glass closer, trying to get him to try a sip.

It was driving him insane. Wednesday had come so quickly, and every minute he spent at the kitchen table, picking his bagel apart, was a minute that he wasn’t heading to the mountain. Luckily he managed to clear most of the day at work, but he still had to wait for Sans to head out. He had been trying to stay on his best behavior in the past few days to keep his brother from getting suspicious, but it wasn’t easy to keep up the act.

This time, he was ready, or as ready as he could ever be, or as ready as he could manage on a tiny bit of effort. More healing food and the max HP boost he could get from sleeping, in case Temmie attacked him again. His phone, on but silent, with a drafted message in case the worst happened and he needed to tell someone he was in the mountain. Between Alphys, Sans, and the Dreemurrs, _someone_ would come save him, right? In an emergency, it would only take a few seconds. And, whether or not the worst did happen, he wanted to keep in touch with his brother. He wasn’t sure how long Temmie would keep him down there, but if he could send off a few texts, Sans wouldn’t have another panicked fit.

After what felt like ages, Sans grabbed his stuff and sailed out the door, shouting a goodbye. Papyrus waited a minute in case he rushed back in (maybe to get the last word about his smoothies), but the rumble of his motorcycle soon faded into the distance. Papyrus could finally leave.

He only held off long enough to lock up the house before he hurried into a shortcut, still clutching his unfinished breakfast. He gave himself a minute to stare out at the city, taking deep breaths and trying to choke down the rest of the bagel before heading inside Mt. Ebott. It was already there waiting for him, laying on the floor and pawing at the blades of grass, plucking them out and shredding them.

“About time!” Temmie stood, crossing the room to press against his ankles. For a moment, he thought of the stray cats that hung around the neighborhood, not caring whether someone was human or a monster so long as there was petting involved. But when Temmie did it, he knew it was for convenience only—this thing didn’t have a scrap of affection for him. Papyrus could anticipate what was coming next. “Teleport us to the Ruins.”

Well, the location was unexpected. What did it want in the Ruins? He brought them to the threshold of Asgore’s home, and it headed inside. Temmie was only gone for a few minutes, dragging a basket behind it with magic. The basket was barely smaller than Temmie itself, so Papyrus picked it up for them, glancing at the contents. A watering can, a little trowel, a gardening knife, stuff he had seen in Asgore’s hands a thousand times.

“So, what’s the plan with all this stuff?” Papyrus asked, following as it started to walk. It grunted in annoyance, rather than answering. “Is it a mystery? Oh, _the plot thickens_. Don’t _leaf_ me in suspense.” With every word, Temmie tried to hurry a little faster, as if it could outpace him and his much longer strides. He got the feeling it was only tolerating him because he was carrying the basket.

Temmie led him through the Ruins, navigating the puzzles backwards with ease. They headed all the way to the very end of the Ruins, to the little room with a hole in the ceiling and a flower patch. While he leaned against the wall, waiting for it to tell him what to do, it began to tend the flowers.

It was an awkward, fumbling process. With its stiff, tiny paws, it struggled to weed and prune, and he was pretty sure the watering can would be too heavy for it to lift. About the only thing it wasn’t having difficulty with was killing the caterpillars with little bursts of magic, which it did with brutal glee.

Papyrus couldn’t watch for long. His instincts screamed at him to help, to serve. As it tried to uproot a particularly stubborn weed, Papyrus lurched forward. His hands were stronger, he could get it out, he could...

The world exploded into a searing rainbow-colored light, and then so much pain that it overrode all of his other senses: he couldn’t hear Temmie, he could barely see anything but white, he knew he was sprawled on the ground but couldn’t feel it under his back. (He couldn’t feel his bones at all, actually.) Temmie’s screaming trickled in after what seemed like minutes, the volume of the world slowly rising from zero. Wordless shrieks, insults.

It had attacked him. All of his sleep-boosted HP was gone, leaving him with only the dregs; its last attack had practically been a tap in comparison. It stomped over to him with all the menace that a demented plushy not-monster could possess, walking right up onto his ribcage. “What part of ‘don’t walk on the grass’ don’t you understand, you useless sack of bones? Don’t do that again!”

If he still had his voice, he might have argued that it never told him to stay back in the first place, but he could barely put that thought together, let alone saying it aloud. It didn’t seem to care, climbing up until it could reach his skull, putting its paws on his jaw and pressing down. “ _Well_?” Despite its negligible weight, Temmie managed to push his head down, painfully grinding it against the dirt.

“Won’t do it again,” Papyrus gasped out. “’M sorry.”

Temmie scanned his face, possibly looking for some proof of his sincerity, though he doubted his expression showed anything other than agony. Still, apparently he seemed repentant enough for it to hop down and return to the flower patch. “If you do _anything_ , don’t step on the grass, idiot. Now, do the watering.”

(Luckily for him, he could levitate the watering can without having to move from his spot on the ground, after he managed to sit up. If his magic control wavered and poured out too much water, _well_. That was on Temmie, wasn’t it?)

*

Luckily, by the time it was done with the flowers, he was able to stand again, health boosted by hard candies slipped between his teeth whenever Temmie wasn’t looking. He considered sending that text, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, right? The pain had almost worn off already, no need to call down the cavalry over something he could handle himself. “I don’t want to walk all the way again,” Temmie whined at the end, returning to his side and dragging the basket along. “Teleport us back.”

It led him inside the house, directly to the locked room. Since Asgore and Toriel’s homes were arranged in the same way, he was pretty sure it was another creepy children’s room. Rather than needing him to unlock it, it seemed that Temmie had found another solution this time, apparently by flinging magic bullets at it until the whole doorknob was destroyed. Honestly, he was surprised it had enough restraint not to tear the door apart. With a smirk, it nudged the door open and headed in.

At first glance: creepy, but not quite as bad as the first. It didn’t smell as musty or look as abandoned, just a room, not a time capsule. It was easy to imagine human children living and playing here. Where everything in the first room had gone untouched, the furniture was about the only thing still left behind: the toy box was empty, the walls were bare, he guessed the wardrobe was empty too. Asgore must have taken all of it for Chara’s use. There was only one bed this time, just a bare mattress, so he took his seat on the floor again. He had the uncomfortable feeling it enjoyed having the higher ground, getting to look down on him. (It _was_ a tiny creature, after all. Probably didn’t get the chance that often, no wonder it was so _short-tempered_.)

He expected more Surface storytime; he had even mentally thought about what he might say, what would interest this thing, though it felt like all of those ideas had fallen out of his head the moment it had attacked him. But it seemed to have other plans for him this time.

“Empty your pockets.”

“What?” He scooted closer to the bed, his hands already moving to complete the task, piling everything he was carrying in his hoodie in front of Temmie. His phone, the snacks he brought with him, all the bits of trash he usually didn’t bother to clear out: receipts, empty cigarette packets, torn candy wrappers. He could usually build up a small mountain of trash between laundry days, to Sans’s eternal displeasure.

Luckily it ignored his phone, shoving it aside in favor of his snacks. He slipped it back into his pocket while it was distracted by cookies and rolls, putting them in its own inventory. He wasn’t sure it _could_ eat like a normal monster, but maybe he was just being prejudiced and assuming. There were plenty of monsters that could eat without a mouth, after all. Or maybe it was just okay with wasting something if it meant Papyrus couldn’t have it.

The rest Temmie shoved around on the bed, though he wasn’t sure what it was looking for. It unearthed some coins and, after realizing they were currency, took all of them. It didn’t seem to recognize bills as money; luckily he hadn’t brought that fact up in his endless descriptions of the Surface. Better to lose forty cents than a few day’s worth of lunch money.

For a minute, he just watched Temmie sort through his junk, looking more and more bored with what it found, like it had expected him to bring out something exciting. Party poppers? Small live animals? He had forgotten that he had left the drawing in his pocket. At the time, the issue of Temmie had been much more important, and it had just become another bit of paper in his pocket, nothing to think about. Temmie unfolded it with a scowl, probably expecting it to be more uninteresting trash.

And then gave a startled laugh. “ _What_?! This thing again?”

“Huh?” Had Temmie seen it before? It was kind of creepy to imagine it wandering around in their abandoned house, poking through everything that had been left behind. But the basement had been locked, so he wasn’t sure how that was possible.

“Did you figure it out yet? Nah, from the look on your face, you obviously haven’t and you’ve got no idea what it is. God, you’re so dumb. You have the whole world to explore now, but you still ended up with this thing?” It tugged the paper between its paws, hard enough that he expected it to rip. “You’re tempting fate just by carrying it around. But I guess stupid runs in the family, _right_?” It giggled, giving him an expectant look, like it had just said something clever and hilarious. He had no idea what to say.

“Leave it at home next time you come, though, I don’t want it around me. Ugh, it’s creepy every time.” Temmie shoved it away, off the bed, and it fluttered into Papyrus’s lap.

*

The drawing felt heavy in his pocket as he left the mountain a few hours later, after Temmie had mocked him a little more and then demanded he tell it about clouds. (He made the mistake of telling it that there were different _types_ of clouds, which dragged out the experience.) The drawing must have had some significance, for Temmie to recognize it and imply it was something important. And that ‘family’ comment stuck out the most. Had Temmie implied that the dark figure in the drawing was related to them? No amount of sleep or distraction over the next few days could make him forget about it. He had to ask Sans.

His brother was wrist deep in some sort of bread dough, humming softly as he kneaded it. He paused to grin up at Papyrus as he walked in and took his spot at the kitchen table. He looked so happy, a rare sight from how concerned and disappointed he usually was with Papyrus these days. “Take a break and sit down so we can talk. Please, bro?”

“That serious? Alright, just be patient for a minute.” It seemed to take forever for Sans to wash his hands and put the dough back in the fridge before he sat down in front of Papyrus. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Sans looked so cheerful that Papyrus wondered if he still had enough time to redirect and say something else.

No, he had to figure this out, he’d probably go insane if he didn’t. “Sans, what happened to our parents?”

Sans looked baffled. “We don’t _have_ parents, Papyrus. You know that.”

Fuck, he really had to do this. Why hadn’t this conversation ever come up when they were younger? Surely kid-Papyrus would have picked up on the blatant hole in his life. Had he just forgotten that he had asked Sans all of this before? “Every other monster in the Underground had parents at some point, why not us? It’s not like we popped out of an Echo flower patch or some shit. Did they fall down? Were we abandoned? There has to be something.” He had looked through Sans’s perfectly curated photo albums, initially sparse with pictures of Sans until he was about eight but plenty of Papyrus, each photo dated on the back. But there wasn’t a single one with a third skeleton.

Sans shrugged, as if it was perfectly normal and Papyrus was being childish for thinking otherwise. How could he be so nonchalant? “We didn’t have parents, I raised you. What brought this up, sillyhead? You’re a little old to be fantasizing about parents, aren’t you?”

“What?! Sans, you’re only a few years older than I am. Do you seriously expect me to believe you took care of a toddler by yourself when you were _5_?”

Sans flinched, his smile twitching before he widened it. On any other day, Papyrus might have been fooled. “We had help from other people in Snowdin—”

“But no one took us in? Or brought us to the orphanage in the Capital? Bullshit. Sans, how the fuck did we have a place to live? How could we afford that, or any of the stuff we owned? If someone was paying for all that, why give us a house instead of taking us into theirs? Why didn’t anyone adopt us?” Who had enrolled them in school, if they didn’t have parents? _Someone_ must have filled out that paperwork, or they would have been reported as orphans. None of it made sense.

“You’re making it into a big deal when it’s really not, Papyrus.”

When he shifted in his seat, the drawing still waiting in his hoodie pocket rustled, and he pulled it out, shoving it in front of his brother. “What’s this, then? Who the fuck was I drawing as a kid? Is that our parent?”

The angles of the stars in Sans’s eyes slowly disappeared as he looked down at the drawing, until his sockets were empty and black. He traced the edge of the page. “You shouldn’t get into this, Papyrus,” Sans said, all the emotion going out of his voice, each syllable coming out slow and heavy.

“What—”

“You need to leave this alone,” Sans said, calmly picking up the paper and tearing it in half. And then each piece into fourths, eighths, on and on until it was a pile of confetti that he swept into a neat pile and carried to the kitchen trash. (Maybe Papyrus was imagining things, but it looked like Sans put a little more effort into reducing the black figure into the tiniest pieces he could manage.) “You’re only going to hurt yourself this way. It was difficult, but I raised you, and the people in Snowdin helped a lot. That’s what happened, and you need to remember that.”

There was a beat, when he stared into his brother’s face, confused, horrified. Did Sans know what had really happened? Why was he clinging so hard to that flimsy story? His brother’s eyelights came back, expanding to their regular stars and spinning so fast Papyrus felt like he was going puke all over the table if he kept looking. “Anything else, Papy? I feel like we haven’t had a good brother conversation in a while now! We can talk while I finish up with this, it’ll only take a few minutes before I can put it in the oven.”

*

He couldn’t stay in the house after that, with Sans smiling and chattering and baking bread, taking little pauses to cough delicately into his shoulder. Like that conversation hadn’t happened and nothing had changed. If he looked closely, he could see black flecks of goo splattered on Sans’s shirt, and his skull was getting ashen. Maybe it would be easier to frame it like that: Sans would _want_ him to go, so he didn’t have to restrain himself from being visibly sick in front of his little brother.

So Papyrus went.

Luckily he didn’t have to go far, or he might have wandered off in a stupor to who knows where. But Undyne and Alphys lived only a few houses down, so he headed there.

He had a moment of guilt when Undyne came to the door in a hurry, disheveled and blushing teal. Probably should have texted ahead so she would have time to change out of her pajamas, printed with little cartoon shrimp, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t ever seen her like that before. In the Underground, she usually made do with just a lab coat thrown over top, but now that they were above ground, it seemed like she was done with all-day pajama parties. (Or all-week pajama parties in the same unwashed pajamas, when shit got really bad. He got good at telling when she was having an episode, arguably better than sensing his own downswings. Her posts online would go from self-deprecating to scathing, often late at night when everyone else was asleep, and she wouldn’t even bother to delete them by morning out of embarrassment. He would come around after his sentry shift in Hotland, to pun and gently shame her into showering and eating whatever sugary food he brought with him. It was the least she deserved.)

(After all, she did the same for him, or her equivalent. No, she didn’t head out to Snowdin if he had an episode. Even now, with the Sun and Alphys to motivate her, she was still having trouble going outside. But his phone would be bombarded with messages, a thousand distractions. Napstabot’s new album came out, you should listen. Hey, take this dumb online quiz. Look at all these artsy photos of food—Sans had probably suggested that one, in despair over Papyrus refusing to eat. Whatever she could think of to keep him awake and distracted. It had kept him afloat more than a few times.)

“Lemme just, uh, get dressed, I wasn’t expecting visitors!” Before he could tell her it was fine, she was hurrying out of the room. He could hear her rush up the stairs, a little grunt of pain as she stumbled.

It had been a while since he had been to her house, he realized, looking around where she had left him in the living room. At least a few _months,_ fuck. It was practically unfamiliar with all the decorating they had done and the new damage from Alphys’s enthusiasm. (And maybe from a few of Undyne’s experiments that hadn’t made it down to the lab set up in the basement, judging from the burn marks and weird discolored patches on the walls. And the holes in the rug.)

No wonder she was acting weird and skittish. There was the Saturday jogging, of course, but they hadn’t spoken much during that lately, and he had completely slept through it last week. And he had answered maybe 20% of her messages online, mostly to keep her from getting too worried and spamming him. He was practically a stranger these days.

She was soon back, hurriedly tying her hair up. “Um, want something to drink? There’s soda, or I know you like tea, we have some of that, or...?”

“Soda’s fine.” Honestly, after that talk with Sans, he wasn’t sure he could handle much sugar, but she would insist on giving him _something,_ and he wanted the pleasantries out of the way. She brought back a bag of chips as well, setting it down between them as they took their places on the couch.

See, they had a tradition. Sometimes video games, sometimes anime, with the volume turned down and the subtitles on. There was a lot less pressure if they were half-focused on something else; Undyne didn’t stutter or dodge questions nearly as often with a screen on in front of her. With all the games and anime the Surface had to offer, he didn’t think the tradition was going to end anytime soon.

“How’s it going, ‘Dyne?” She set up a racing game and handed him a controller, starting to talk excitedly.

It turned out that she was taking to the Surface even better than he expected. Back in the Underground, she usually claimed urgent Royal Scientist work whenever a conference came around (aka hiding in bed and hyperventilating), but now that she had Alphys to help her through her pre-speech panic attacks, she could actually attend and give presentations. She and a few other monster scientists were working on adapting the Core’s technology for human use, ideally as an alternative energy source. It was probably one of the reasons why Toriel’s diplomatic efforts were so successful; it was hard for humans to protest against monsters when they were offering so much.

“And I’m writing this paper on green magic on the side, too, I think it’s going really well! So, uh... What have you been up to?” He ran his character off the edge at that, wincing as hers zipped by. What was he supposed to say? She was one of the few people who knew about his rank as Royal Judge, so he could have theoretically told her about Temmie, or about his problems with the Dreemurrs. But then she would worry and insist that he tell someone, and...she was happy. Who was he to ruin that?

There wasn’t much to tell her otherwise. She was helping monsterkind integrate to the Surface and building important connections with humanity’s scientists. The most exciting part of his work day was someone screeching in terror when he passed them to restock the juice section. He wasn’t going to follow up her stories with _that._ “Just the usual. Being lazy, sleeping. Working once in a blue moon.”

Her character drove across the finish line, and she glanced over as he tried not to come in dead last, behind all the computer players. “Have you been sick? I mean, not that you look terrible or anything! Just, I haven’t seen you lately. And with the stuff that’s been happening lately...” It was a pretty polite way to reword ‘disappearing multiple times and making everyone panic and look for you’, but he felt guilty anyway. He couldn’t remember if he ever answered any of her panicked messages, or if he just let his brother reassure her that Papyrus wasn’t dead, just wildly inconsiderate.

“Busy doing nothing, that’s all. You’ll have to live vicariously through someone else, sad to say.” He shoved a handful of chips in his mouth before the next race started, though he couldn’t really taste them.

Undyne went silent, got first place again. Just when he hoped the subject had passed, she sighed.

“Papyrus, you know... It’s pretty hypocritical of me to lecture you on keeping secrets, right?” Undyne paused the game, turning to look at him, faint tears brimming in her yellow eyes. Her hand paused in the air for a moment before she worked herself up to placing it on his shoulder. “I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s going on. If someone tried to make _me_ come clean about the Amalgamates before I was ready, it really, r-really would have hurt. But if you want to tell me anything, my inbox is open. And, uh, my house too I guess?”

He was tempted to say something sappy and dumb for a second, like ‘you’re the best friend I could ever hoped for’, but luckily he controlled the urge. “Thanks, Undyne, I’ll remember that,” he said, and promptly defused the situation by flicking chips at Undyne until she was flailing and breathless with giggles and the heavy mood had passed, for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my outline is right, this is a little over halfway done. I’m torn between ‘it’s almost over’ and ‘oh man, that’s still a lot to go.’ Maybe more of the latter, considering that this chapter took decades to write.


	9. Chapter 9

Someday, Papyrus told himself, he was going to introduce the Dreemurrs to Muffet’s. Hadn’t they ever visited it back when it was Underground? Or maybe he would drag them to a shitty dinner, or even a drive-through. These people definitely needed to see how the rest of the world lived, he decided as they led him into the tea room.

It was like some weird power-play on Toriel’s part, and Papyrus honestly wasn’t sure that the fancy food and the atmosphere were worth it. If she was capable of having an interaction with Asgore that didn’t have any passive aggression (or regular aggression), Papyrus had yet to see it. Maybe they were more civil with Chara around? He hoped so, poor kid.

See, it was very thoughtful and appropriate at first glance. Toriel had gotten them a reservation at a little tea room in the city for afternoon tea, and booked a private room to get away from human stares. Luckily she had told Papyrus in advance this time, so his clothes were clean, if not exactly presentable. He liked tea, and it was a bit cheaper than that restaurant the other day, so he could actually afford his portion this time. It didn’t sound like that bad of a time to him, when she first brought it up.

But for Asgore, it was clearly a snub. Maybe Papyrus was just being paranoid, but.... Why would Toriel pay so much for a fancy tea service if she wasn’t trying to imply that Asgore’s handmade tea wasn’t good enough? And the finger-food was too small for Asgore’s paws, the table covered in delicate pastries and sandwiches that he couldn’t properly eat. After accidentally squishing an éclair and discreetly scrubbing the mess off his hand with a napkin, Asgore settled for his tea and nothing else. There were forks, but they were tiny and delicate as well, probably like trying to eat with a toothpick. Toriel’s paws weren’t that much smaller, but she managed to carefully eat a few scones without smearing chocolate everywhere, seeming pretty smug.

Papyrus tried to keep his hands off the food, which only lasted for a few minutes. They both noticed that he wasn’t eating either, and apparently that wouldn’t do. Toriel nudged a plate of tiny sandwiches closer to him. “Are you sure you don’t want some? You’re all bones, after all.” She had held herself back from a blatant order, he realized; maybe Asgore had convinced her to lay off? He didn’t _have_ to take a little sandwich, which meant that he actually kind of wanted one. Might as well get their money’s worth of food while they were there, since it seemed too highbrow of a place to offer leftover boxes.

All awkwardness aside, it was a good opportunity for him. He had the feeling they wanted to launch into round two of their intense, angry discussion about his future, and he was sure it would be just as uncomfortable as the first time around. Before they could get to it, with the small talk just about over and both of them taking a sip, he took his chance, setting aside the half-eaten cucumber sandwich.

“Uh, it’s nice to see you guys, ‘cause lately I’ve been thinking about something I bet you’d be interested in? Kind of a royal matter, I guess.”

“Oh? Do tell, Papyrus, your input means a lot to us. I’m glad you’re pursuing alternate duties as a Judge.” Toriel beamed at him, reaching out to pour him more tea. By now, after spending so much time around Asgore, he could identify some tea by smell alone, and he was pretty sure it was chamomile.

“Well, I was wondering...” He wasn’t about to admit to them that he was practically spending as much time back Underground as he was on the Surface. They might forbid him from going back, and the contradicting orders would probably make him explode. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Floweys up here? Obviously they’re probably not in the city, but I don’t remember them leaving with everyone else on the way out. And no one I know has seen or mentioned them lately. Are they still down in the Underground?”

Their faces fell so fast it was practically comedic. Were the Floweys so reclusive that the _Queen_ herself hadn’t noticed that they slipped through the cracks?

Asgore set down his tea cup with exaggerated care, before he had a chance to spill it or crack it in two. “ _You left an entire species of monsters behind?”_ he asked Toriel in a strained whisper. Maybe it was worse that they were flower monsters; of course Asgore would be protective of them.

Her horror immediately turned into defensiveness. “You heard my broadcasts after the Barrier broke! I had no reason to believe that the Floweys didn’t somehow see them, or that they didn’t hear about it from their neighbors. There were so many monsters to evacuate that I couldn’t possibly talk to all of them before we left.”

“Still—”

He needed to head this off before the argument turned into a fight. It wasn’t likely that either one would go past biting comments and straight into fireballs, but years of knowing Alphys had taught him to expect battle magic at the slightest offense. “But we can go back down, right? To see if they’re there, and to bring them up if they are. They can’t live in town, but maybe in the woods at the foot of the mountain?”

“Of course! From what I know of Floweys, I think a semi-secluded location would appeal to them more than an urban environment. There’s plenty of other monsters living on the outskirts,” Toriel said, both of them nodding fervently. “Goodness, I hope they’ve been doing well. They’ve always been self-sufficient, but... I’m so glad you brought this to our attention.”

He flushed under the weight of their combined approval. Hopefully the tablecloth was long enough that they couldn’t see his legs squeezing together, his pelvis warm with quickly forming magic. Asgore patted his shoulder, and Toriel slid a plate of tarts closer to him. He could feel each individual drip coming out of him, starting to smear against his femurs. His clit ached.

_Don’t do this right now. Just think about innocent talking flowers and pastries and it’ll go away—_

A vivid mental image started to form in his head. It was a private room, and the staff had been pretty hands-off. There was a little bell to ring if they wanted more tea or frilly biscuits or whatever, but otherwise they had been left alone. A human wouldn’t catch him if he, for instance, slipped out of his seat and blew Asgore underneath the table. And ate Toriel out—she was wearing a dress, so he would have easy access. It wouldn’t be right unless he served both of them, obviously. Without his permission, his imagination ran for it, filling in all the details of the fantasy. The carpet against his legs. Toriel’s hand on his skull, pushing him closer to her. Little gasps and moans, trying not to be overheard by any humans.

Or maybe he could ring the bell, get another pot of tea, and pour it out on his crotch. What the fuck was wrong with him, that he couldn’t control these thoughts? He bit down hard on his tongue as he chewed on a tart, hoping the pain would distract him.

...Which only lasted until his knee accidentally brushed against Toriel’s, the softness of her fur and her coy smile, half-hidden behind her tea cup, igniting another burst of warmth between his legs. The sooner this ended, the better.

*

Maybe it was shame that had Toriel rushing to make a plan so quickly.

They ended up with a group of about a dozen people, including Asgore, Papyrus, and several Waterfall monsters Papyrus sort-of knew, all led up the mountain by Toriel. (Chara had begged to join them, but apparently they had a school project to finish. Luckily Undyne offered to babysit and help out with their project, so they didn’t argue too much. Papyrus had the feeling Undyne had promised them anime to get them to agree.)

It made sense for former Waterfall occupants to go down and help their former neighbors. From the chatter as they took the trail up Mt. Ebott, it seemed like they had assumed the Floweys had gotten out on their own power somehow, and their newfound freedom distracted them too much to think any further than that, just like Asgore and Toriel. But now the guilt had set in, and they were ready to help, their inventories full of flowerpots and soil from Asgore’s supplies. He had eagerly offered to let them use it, since the Floweys would only need it for the trip.

Aside from their first journey down the mountain, Papyrus was used to taking shortcuts in and out of Ebott—an early morning hike was not how he preferred his Saturdays to start. Bad enough that Sans had been sick over the past few days and couldn’t come. He was on the mend, but Papyrus had guilted him into taking things easy, though for him that meant studying in bed, rather than sleeping. Unfortunately that meant Papyrus didn’t have his brother’s near-endless cheer to push him up the slope.

There was coffee, at least, and he took another sip from his thermos. It almost made up for how early they had set off, with the sun rising as they climbed. Logically, it made sense to start in the morning; they had to climb the mountain, get from New Home all the way to Waterfall, and then back out again. For people who couldn’t teleport, that would take a while. Papyrus was already starting to get a little breathless.

And he couldn’t help feeling nervous as the sky settled into blue and they approached the top, to where the Barrier used to stand. Neither of the Dreemurrs had let him skip out. It was his idea, they both insisted, agreeing for once. Shouldn’t he be present, so the Floweys would know he was their hero? Nothing he could say, no amount of wheedling and sidestepping and insisting that he could visit the Floweys after their transplant, could convince them otherwise.

He had gotten used to thinking of Mt. Ebott and the Underground as belonging to Temmie, and it felt weird to be going back for a different reason. Not _wrong_ , since it was the result of a higher order, just weird. Would their group run into it on the way, or would it not bother with their little procession?

He hoped for the latter, and his luck seemed to hold, at first. They made it through the Capital and Hotland without much difficulty. Luckily the elevators were working, though they needed to make a few trips. The elevators were big enough for a Boss Monster, not two Boss Monsters and a bunch of smaller monsters squished into the corners. Some of the Waterfall group looked worn out from the brief time they spent passing through Hotland, so they took a break in the corridor between the regions, where the flashing sign had long since gone dark.

Things started to get weird once they passed into Waterfall.

Something felt off, made worse by the fact that no one else seemed to notice. He heard footsteps behind them, and rustling in the grass after the last person had stepped back onto the dirt path. And those silent Echo Flowers stuck out to him again. He would have expected _Asgore_ of all people to notice if something was wrong with a flower, but he just passed them by with a fond smile, as if he could hear messages Papyrus couldn’t. The crystals were still dark, and when Toriel used hovering spheres of fire magic to light the way, he saw squirming shadows that couldn’t have belonged to any of them. Was he going crazy?

Luckily it wasn’t that far to Flowey Village, and he could feel his mood improve as they popped out of the ground to squeak greetings at their new visitors. Hard to stay upset when surrounded by Floweys, after all. Luckily Toriel started explaining the situation to them, so Papyrus just had to help unpack their supplies. He loved the little plants (they had such a _rosy_ outlook that always cheered him up), but having a coherent conversation with them wasn’t an easy task.

As Toriel continued her explanation (it seemed to be taking a while, maybe the idea of relocation was foreign to them?), the rest of them readied the pots. There were plenty of hands, and he was starting to feel like he was pretty useless. He had filled all of one flowerpot before the crab monster next to him shook her head and took the soil bag out of his hands to fix the level. How was he supposed to know how much dirt a Flowey would need for a temporary trip? It seemed like staying out of the way would be more helpful, so he stepped out of the village, heading a few feet away to have a smoke.

If he listened closely, past all the sounds of Waterfall, he could hear those footsteps again, the rustling of someone pacing through the grass...

“Papyrus, could I speak with you a moment?” He turned as Asgore emerged from the village, stubbing out his cigarette and waving the smoke away.

“Sure, what’s up? Besides...” He gestured towards the cavern ceiling. He’d noticed that, among all the other monsters in the group, he was the only one who hadn’t seemed claustrophobic or uncomfortable as they walked through the Underground. It was something they endured, not a relief from the Surface. Asgore definitely wasn’t immune, sighing as he glanced upward, his shoulders slumped.

“Pardon me for being abrupt, as I know this subject has been causing you some distress. Toriel and I have been discussing your role as Judge in more depth as of late. I believe I’m getting closer to convincing her. If at some point you do want to relinquish your title, I believe we can remove the magic tying you to us, allowing you to step down. It’s a complex ritual that would require both of us to perform, but I’ve been researching it as of late. I do think it’s feasible.”

“Would...would she be down with it? She didn’t seem too thrilled the first time you brought it up.” He gestured at the entrance to the village. It was easier to think about than whether _he_ wanted that. It wasn’t like he did much Judge business anymore, but he still couldn’t imagine a future without it. Would either Dreemurr still bother with him if that bond was destroyed?

“Papyrus... When it comes down to it, both of us want nothing more for you to be happy and healthy, and your opinion matters far more than ours ever could. With that in mind, if it’s what you want, I believe I could convince her. Please, give it some thought.”

For all that they insisted they cared about his opinion, Asgore didn’t seem to realize this was just pulling him between them. If Toriel wanted him to keep going and Asgore wanted him to stop, there was no way to make both of them happy. How was he supposed to cope with that?

Papyrus followed Asgore back into the village, trying to put the conversation out of his mind. It had taken a while, but Toriel had apparently gotten through to the flowers. The village was loud with Flowey chatter as they packed up their little lives, excited and ready to head upward. As the others kept filling pots with soil, he stepped into the shop, passing items off the shelves to the shopkeeper, who somehow managed to jam an entire shop’s wares into a single inventory. In the corner, a Flowey was telling Asgore that he had to take the enormous flower statue! It was part of their culture!

There was so much noise and movement that he didn’t initially register the growing warmth at his wrist, the rune starting to burn when he ignored it. Come away, it told him. You’re being called. It wasn’t Asgore or Toriel; neither of them was looking his way. It was easy to walk out again. No one seemed to notice.

He had to move away from the village, walking through the dark into the next room, far enough that no one could see him from the entrance. He wasn’t really surprised at what he found. Temmie was pacing there, looking furious and terrified. It immediately rushed to his feet. “I can’t believe you would...” Temmie trailed off, noticing the few Echo Flowers scattered on the side of the path, all of them silent. In a cloud of bullets, it shredded the few flowers around them. It only took a few seconds before the flowers were reduced to pieces too small to carry a sound, and it started to speak again.

“What sort of idiot are you?” Temmie said in a harsh whisper. “You brought _them_ here and you start saying that crap?! Get down here, you enormous asshole!” With a rush of magic, he dropped to his knees in the dirt in front of Temmie. “He can hear it! He’s already suspicious about you, and now you’re confirming it?”

“Who—”

“I’m not going to say his name and make it worse!” At his confused look, Temmie sighed. “Fine! I’ll explain it in little words, so even someone as stupid as you can understand it. ______ is...” There was a burst of static obscuring the word, just as it had for Toriel and Asgore. “Ugh, you still don’t know the name yet? Fine _._ There’s _someone_ still in the Underground, who really wants you to stay the Judge. And he gets what he wants, one way or another. And...” A single bullet formed in front of his skull. “...You’ve probably pissed him off.” The bullet did a loop around his head, gathering speed before it slammed into his ribs.

Papyrus doubled over, forehead nearly grazing the dirt. His first instinct was to wrap his arms around himself, but even a light touch to his ribs, one of his lowest now cracked, was agony. “He’s already a huge pain in the ass, but usually he keeps to himself and doesn’t bother me that much. But now that he knows you might stop...”

“He was suspicious already, but now you’ve proved him right.” More bullets, and with every sentence, Temmie launched another one at his rib-cage. “You’re screwed now.” His hoodie wasn’t any protection at all.  
“You’ve seen them, right? Those gray monsters?” Temmie’s aim was getting higher, closer to his sternum. Too close to his Soul. “They work for Gaster. All they’ve been doing lately is wandering around the Underground and being annoying. But they probably overheard what you said to Asgore, and now they’ll run back and tell their master.”

The final bullet orbiting Temmie’s head slammed into him with an audible crack, snapping off the edge of one of his floating ribs. As he clawed at the ground, jaw clenched to keep quiet, he could feel it dissolve into dust and coat the inside of his hoodie.

“Because I’m such a good friend, I wanted to warn you. Not only have you made things more annoying for me, but he’ll probably start sending them after you. I’ve seen them leave the Underground before, but I bet they’re gonna be a lot more interested in you now. And—”

He heard the grass crunching behind him. “Papyrus? Are you out here? The Floweys are almost done.” It was Toriel’s voice. “I believe we can depart soon.” Temmie took a sharp inhale, retreating closer into his shadow.

“Yeah!” Papyrus called back, hoping none of the pain was leaking into his voice. “Just finishing up my smoke, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Why’d you have to bring _them_ down here...” He had the feeling Temmie was talking to itself more than to him, peeking past him to where she must have been standing. Papyrus leaned away, hoping that it meant he had been dismissed.

“Wait.” Or maybe not. “Don’t think this gets you out of coming back next Tuesday! Just because you’re an idiot who ruins everything doesn’t mean you can get out of this.”

“Yeah,” Papyrus forced out. “I’ll be there. Tuesday.” Temmie nodded, and with a final glance towards Toriel, bounded through the grass and out of sight. If she hadn’t come out, would it still be hurting him?

Clutching at the stone wall, Papyrus heaved himself to his feet. He didn’t want to look, but he pulled up his hoodie before he could lose the nerve.

One snapped rib. Five cracked ribs, one so bad that his magic was barely keeping it together. A gentle spray of dust fell to the ground as he tried to gently shake out his hoodie and shirt, and he had to scuff his feet where some of it had landed on his sandals.

He wished he had time to pity himself or even attempt healing magic, but he had already spent too much time out here. One of them might come looking for him.

Someone had already set down blankets for everyone to sit on, and Asgore was passing out sandwiches when he shuffled in. The lunch break couldn’t have come at a better time, but he couldn’t remember a time when he had wanted to eat less. Had he managed to brush all the dust off, or were there still flecks left on his shorts? Did anyone notice him wincing as he sat down? How was he supposed to chew when moving his jaw sent waves of pain down his torso?

He could feel his ribs starting to stabilize, not at risk of disintegrating but still cracked. A salami sandwich wasn’t nearly healing enough, but everyone was already standing, getting ready to head out.

*

Probably the worst part was trying to keep it out of his expression as they made the trek back out. A Flowey was not a heavy creature, but when you added in a sturdy, sizable flowerpot full of soil, carrying it was a trial. Toriel had two in her arms, Asgore carried three with ease, but he struggled with his one, having to hold the pot close to his damaged ribs. And they had to hurry through Hotland, which made it worse. Floweys could theoretically handle those temperatures, but it wasn’t good for them by any means.

Maybe it was the pain and the temperature shifts that were causing the shifting black shadows in the corner of his vision. And the gray figures milling around, getting closer than they had on the way in. Was Temmie’s prediction coming true already?

The _Flowey_ seemed to notice he wasn’t okay, sort of. Maybe it was because Papyrus was lagging far enough behind that Flowey had no one else to pay attention to. He didn’t seem placated when Papyrus insisted he was fine, bapping at his face with a leaf, occasionally firing bursts of friendliness pellets at him. It couldn’t replace the boost of sleep HP he had lost, but it felt like it was helping. With each pellet aimed at his torso, the remainder of his ribs felt a little less fragile.

If it wasn’t for that little flower distracting him, he might have lost his fucking mind.

Someone else should have seen the figures too, with how close they were getting. Close enough that he recognized the cat monster he had seen in Hotland, who had said all that weird shit to him. The monster that was only a head, their enormous eye fixed on him. The little gray goat kid, hunched underneath their umbrella, hanging farther back and staring down at their feet.

The exit couldn’t come fast enough. With everything gray and white in New Home, it was harder to see who was following them, aside from hints of movement in the distance. The rest of the group had started noticing how much he was slowing down. Toriel kept asking if he was alright, if he needed another break, but he just wanted to get it over with. To go home.

It felt like hours before they finally made it to the throne room. He wanted to hurry so Flowey could finally see the sun, but every footstep dragged. How was he going to survive the hike down the mountain if he was this exhausted?

Something pulled at him, when he stepped out of the Underground. A layer of static fell over him, dimming Flowey’s excited chatter as he strained to see everything the Surface had to offer. The feeling told him to look back. _Demanded_ that he look back.

There was something there, in the mouth of the cavern. Not a shadow, shadows didn’t move like that, it was darker than a shadow, and the sunlight glinted off it in a strange way. His mind started to cringe and huddle into a mental corner, sobbing helplessly. Was it looking at him? Did it have eyes at all? Papyrus knew he was supposed to go back to it, but he couldn’t move. (He could barely feel his grip on the flowerpot loosening, and Temmie wrapping his vines around Papyrus’s arms, trying to hold on.)

Things sort of blurred after that, drops of water on ink. When had they gotten off the mountain? He couldn’t remember the hike, and when he was finally aware again, they had reached the woods at the base of Mt. Ebott. Had he actually started sleepwalking on the way down?

Flowey was poking at whatever bone he could reach in his impatience. “Hoi! Lemme down!” All of the other flowers had already been poured out onto the ground, able to wind their roots down into the grass and the dirt below, petals spread wide to take in as much sun as they could. Everyone who wasn’t a plant was starting to look at him strangely.

“Papyrus? Is something wrong?” Asgore crossed over to his side, putting a gentle hand on his arm. It was enough to loosen his tight, nearly painful grip on the flowerpot.

“Nothing’s up,” he said in a strangled voice. “Just having a little moment with my _bud_ dy here. Who knows when I’ll be able to come out here to visit?” His knees creaked as he tried to lower himself to the ground without dropping Flowey. He tipped the flowerpot over, spilling dirt over his sandals in the process. The flower gave him an odd look and one last friendliness pellet, launched at Papyrus’s forehead, before he squirmed his roots into the ground and went to join his friends.

Toriel moved to his side as he stood, his legs shaky. “Are you alright? You’re looking paler than usual, do you want to sit down for a little longer? It’s only a few minutes to the cars, but don’t push yourself, please.”

He had gotten a ride from Asgore on the way there. The King had insisted on it, probably to make sure he actually came instead of claiming he would shortcut there and never showing. It wasn’t that long of a drive, but the idea of doing it again, this time with Asgore fussing over him? Nope.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m always this pale, you know, it’s the sun bleaching my bones.” _Appearing_ fine was harder to prove, but he tried to keep the stumbling and wobbling to a minimum as they headed towards the parking lot. “I appreciate the ride, Asgore, but I think I can get back on my own. See you guys later.” The trick was to teleport right after getting the words out, so neither of them had a chance to stop him.

Was his aim off from being so disoriented, or did he land exactly where he wanted, when he appeared in his brother’s room instead of his own? Sans had fallen asleep, a textbook and papers still laid out on the bedspread. Maybe he had dozed off mid-sentence. Papyrus made sure to move all of it to his desk, before he pulled back the blankets and slid in beside his brother. He was careful not to jostle the bed; as much as he wanted Sans to wake up, to realize he was distressed, to hold him, he wasn’t going to intentionally wake him up. Sans needed the rest far more than Papyrus needed to be coddled.

‘I think I fucked up, big bro,’ Papyrus didn’t say. ‘I think I saw something horrible in Mt. Ebott. Like a nightmare I’ve had before.’ Instead, he rolled onto his side (carefully, to keep from hurting himself any further), curling around Sans close enough that he could feel his brother’s soul. Its warmth soothed his fragile, aching ribs, lulling him to sleep.

*

The thing was, Papyrus didn’t consider himself a genius in the least, or even that smart, but occasionally he had bursts of...intuition? Maybe that was too generous of a term, considering how fucking _bizarre_ his realization was. It was possible that he was wrong and entertaining an idiotic fantasy, but...

Papyrus had never been too up-to-date on monster history aside from the obvious. Why bother, when it felt like they had endured one tragedy after another? But he knew the story of the late Royal children. Everyone did—there were memorials all over the Underground, and plans to build little, unobtrusive ones above ground as well. Nothing too obvious that would get human attention, just a few plaques here and there. It wasn’t just the death of two children, as awful as that was. A lot of monsters had fallen down in the aftermath, their hope destroyed in the span of a day.

From what he could remember, MK Dreemurr was a Boss Monster by design, not by birth. The Royal couple couldn’t bear a child of their own, so they adopted a young griffin child of parents who had fallen down, former war heroes. The King and Queen had performed a bunch of spells that would make their magic resemble a Boss Monster, so that the couple would age along with MK as if they were their biological child. (They were finally starting to age again, with Chara as their child, but Asgore and Toriel were centuries behind.)

He didn’t know much about the history or the role of the Judge, other than what Toriel had told him, but Papyrus guessed that, long before his time, the Judge didn’t answer to two monsters but to three. Made sense, the kid had to practice working with a Judge before they took the throne. Maybe it would have been bumped up to four, if Frisk had survived long enough to share the throne with MK and be turned into an honorary Boss Monster as well. (If that could actually work with a human.) It was a bizarre explanation, but it was the only one he could think of.

It seemed absurd that this weird almost-monster could be the dead princen, but on the other hand... A creature that his Delta Rune responded to, that walked around New Home with strange familiarity, that tended the Ruins? And there were the smaller tells. Temmie once launching a bullet at the hotel’s memorial fountain as it...no, _they_ passed. How familiar they were with Toriel’s home, knowing what was behind that locked door. Trying to get Papyrus to call them ‘Your Majesty.’ Their panicked reaction to Toriel and Asgore returning to the Underground. When was the last time that kid had seen their parents?

But knowing that, if it was right at all, didn’t really help or change anything. MK Dreemurr or Temmie—didn’t really make a difference to his broken ribs, did it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suffering continues, this time with bonus Underswap (temporary) floweypot!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter. Mind the child abuse tag.

His phone was vibrating, Papyrus told himself, staring at it where it's sitting on the other side of the pillow. Literally a few inches away. It wouldn’t take much effort to answer it. He wouldn’t have to sit up; he could balance it on the side of his skull.

It stopped after nearly a minute of buzzing.

There was a voicemail. Five minutes of staring at the phone. Two more to get his arms to move, another to reach out and grab it. The number didn’t look familiar, but the name did: his manager at the restaurant.

He had to listen to it twice before the words came together properly in his head, maybe from the tone, the careful way each sentence was put together. “I’m sorry to tell you this...”

She claimed that he had skipped too many shifts, some of them without calling in, and when he had shown up, his work had suffered. That he wasn’t a good fit for their company because of it. And she was _terribly_ sorry (though she didn’t really sound like it), but they were going to let him go, so he needed to come by and get his last paycheck.

Had he fucked up that much? He could have sworn he had it managed, usually by swapping with a coworker for a more convenient time. Of course, he had just decided to call in sick for the last few visits to Mt. Ebott. And there had been the other Saturday; thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember if he _had_ covered that one at all... And last Wednesday, when he slept through everything...

The bit about his performance made sense though. It felt like he was getting slower and slower these days: it was harder to keep up with Sans, to make decisions, to remember things. Papyrus would have guessed he was on the cusp of an episode (or maybe was in the middle of one, like Sans had said a while ago), but he wasn’t _sad_. Hadn’t cried or stopped eating or wanted to burn himself either. He was just sluggish and easily confused, not fantastic traits for a restaurant employee to have.

He rolled over, letting his phone slip to the floor. It was almost a positive thing, wasn’t it? More time with his brother, more time to sleep. It wouldn’t be as hard to fit Temmie into his schedule. It hadn’t brought in that much money, so it probably wouldn’t hurt their budget too badly, right?

It wasn’t that shocking, or maybe he just couldn’t muster the energy to be shocked. He was lucky it hadn’t happened sooner; a skeletal employee ruined a lot of human appetites. The people who had hired him had been very cheerful about adding monsters to their staff, wanting to be progressive and hip, but he doubted it helped business any.

The real pressing question was: how was he supposed to tell Sans?

*

Nighttime in the Underground never got as dark as it did up above. You’d think the lack of a sun or moon would make things gloomy and dim, but there was the snow outside, or the bright crystals, or the lava, or the uniform white paint of the Capital, gently glowing with the tiniest bit of light. That was just another part of living in the Underground, and there were plenty of sleep aids, magical or not, for monsters who couldn’t sleep because of it. He remembered Sans had once bought him blackout curtains, hoping that they would help with his nightmares. Papyrus never managed to hang them up in the first place.

Toriel’s home was one of the few exceptions. It was too far from the golden light of the Judgment Hall, and it only had a few windows facing the rest of New Home. In the formerly locked room, there was a child’s nightlight on the wall, a gentle blue light. How long had it been left there, never going dim? It was just bright enough to let him see what was going on.

He was too tall for this bed, his shins hanging over the edge and starting to ache. He was laying on top of the quilts, which were ancient and might just disintegrate if he tried to pull them over himself. Instead, his hoodie was off and draped over him as a makeshift blanket. It hurt more than it helped; he was shivering faintly.

It wasn’t for _him,_ though.

Temmie was curled up on his ribcage, the hoodie pulled around them. He could tell they weren’t sleeping, but clearly they thought he was. He hadn’t moved or spoken since they settled down, which must have been a few hours ago. Papyrus doubted they would have said any of it, otherwise.

Temmie usually ordered him to come Underground in the mornings, and rarely before sundown. But before he managed to get away from them earlier that day, they told him to come back that night. Was two visits in one day going to become a trend? Hopefully Sans wouldn’t think to check on him and end up finding an empty bed.

But they hadn’t asked him to tell them anything, or to take them somewhere in the Underground, or anything other than marching to this bedroom and laying down in silence. He would have assumed they wanted a napping buddy, but no way in hell did he want to be asleep around them. They weren’t asleep either, and he wondered if they could at all. He was surprised they hadn’t noticed how stiff he was laying, trying not to give himself away.

Temmie was mumbling to themself, a wandering, horrible little monologue. “I could take off your feet, I bet. Telling you not to leave wouldn’t work, but if you couldn’t walk... As long as I told you not to teleport out of the mountain, obviously. I could get you to take us to Waterfall and make you throw your own feet into the abyss. You’re too lazy to crawl all the way out, right?”

Could they do that? Was their power over him really that strong? He hoped that whoever had designed the system had just been naive and hadn’t considered that a monster could harm another in such a horrible way. Better that than the Judge being morality training wheels for young royalty.

(If Temmie could order him to mutilate himself, could Toriel or Asgore successfully order him to commit suicide?)

They kneaded at the fabric of his hoodie, restlessly pushing it around. “Would anyone notice, if I just kept you here?” Temmie whispered. “It would take a few days at least, wouldn’t it? A few days of you all to myself. But _he’d_ probably get mad at me, or Chara would stop the whole thing, or something. But until then...”

They sighed, rubbing their cheek against his hoodie and going silent. If they hated him so much, why did they keep wanting him to come back? He waited for more, but they just stretched their limbs and rolled into a new position.

It felt like ages before they stirred from their nap or reverie or whatever it was, hopping off of him and down to the floor. He couldn’t move his head to watch their movements, but they seemed to be leaving the room.

“You can go home now, Papyrus. I’m done with you for tonight,” Temmie said, nudging the door open and disappearing into the hall. He counted to a hundred, waiting for them to change their mind and come back, but nothing.

*

Luckily Asgore didn’t seem to have ‘mowing the lawn’ on his list of gardening tasks for the day, because Papyrus didn’t think he would be able to move from where he was sprawled in the grass. He wasn’t in the way of the flowerbed, so Asgore just stepped around him when necessary, on his trips to the shed.

Asgore’s flowers were just starting to bloom, begonias and asters and pansies. Autumn had arrived, and even Papyrus had to admit it was pretty neat, with the trees changing color. They only had pine trees back in Snowdin. Luckily Sans seemed thrilled about the idea of raking leaves (“It’s a staple of human culture! I can’t wait to try it!”), because there was no way Papyrus was going to do it himself.

The Surface was getting colder too. Apparently winter and snow were still a few months away, but he could feel it coming. Maybe it was just the weather that was leaving him so out of it, and once they had a decent snowfall, he would return back to normal. Maybe his body wasn’t adjusted properly to this climate.

He wasn’t being a very good conversational partner to Asgore, too tired to really focus. With one job lost, Papyrus wasn’t in a hurry to get fired from the other, and it turned out that actually trying with one part-time job took more effort than half-assing two. His mental sluggishness wasn’t helping. He had ended up printing out his weekly schedules and taping them onto his bedroom door, for all the times he had checked it on his phone, looked at something else, and immediately forgot what he had just seen. Never mind all the staggered phone alarms he made, trying to get to work on time. To get to work at all.

So now, on his day off, he just didn’t have enough energy to think of responses. At best he could grunt or hum in agreement as Asgore sighed about aphids and cheerfully gossiped about the neighbor over-watering her flowerbeds. Hopefully Asgore wouldn’t mind too badly if he napped, just for a little while...

*

In the dream, he’s little, small enough that he’s thigh deep in the snow. That’s usually not a problem in Snowdin itself; they keep it shoveled so kids and shorter monsters don’t have a problem. But they’re not in the town. He’s been marched to the outskirts instead, by the edge of the river. Past the trees where no one would see. Every step is an immense struggle, but he’s not allowed to stop.

He doesn’t have his jacket either. Sans would be so upset if he knew, but he’s off in Hotland with his tutor, like he always is on Wednesdays. Maybe that’s why this is happening, with Sans gone and unaware.

Snow’s getting into his shorts and tights, and he can’t help but rattle from the cold, though sometimes he gets in trouble for being noisy. He knows better, but he can’t control it. Hard, angry hands are squeezing his shoulders painfully, shoving him forward. Pushing him towards the river.

Papyrus had been bad, getting a really low grade on his spelling quiz and leaving clothes on the floor and a thousand other things. He’s terrible, maybe the worst monster kid in the world, he knows that, but... He didn’t deserve this, right?

He can barely hear the lecture, when the river is so loud in comparison. But the words he can hear make startled tears pool in his eye sockets. _Disappointment. Waste of time and resources._ ** _Replacement_**.

Papyrus can’t really be replaced that easily, right? Even if he’s terrible, he’s got a _purpose_ , one that Sans can’t do. If Papyrus was gone, it would be really hard to get a new skeleton. But clearly he doesn’t agree. “I could start over, couldn’t I? A second attempt could bring better results. I was too lenient with you. Monsterkind deserves someone far better than you, don’t you think, Papyrus?”

The hands pick him up easily. They hold him out over the river, and he squirms. Struggling is bad, but he can’t help it. Skeletons can’t drown in the normal way, but Sans still lectures him not to play too close. The water’s too cold, and the current is really fast, enough that it drags away paper boats faster than you can chase them along the riverbed, and there are so many rocks in it that could break little bones...

And he’s going to be dropped in the river because he’s a _bad kid_ , and Sans will be alone and scared, not knowing what happened to him, and...and...

The world goes dim and staticky for a minute, like when he sometimes stands up too suddenly when he hasn’t eaten enough. When it lifts, he’s been dropped face down in the snow. It’s gotten into his sweater too. No part of him is dry, and Sans is going to worry so much if he gets sick. There’s laughter above him, really distorted. Usually he’s not this happy. “Did you really think I would do it?”

He wants to stay there in the snow until he freezes and goes into dust. The cold is starting to hurt a lot, but all the kids living in Snowdin know how hypothermia works—eventually you get so cold you feel warm. It sounds really nice to Papyrus right now, at least until he remembers Sans, thinks of Sans crying.

Instead, he pulls himself up. Luckily he doesn’t have to stand all the way. Maybe if he gets the words perfect, he’ll be carried home? He wraps his arms around his father’s ankles, his cheekbone leaving a damp smear when he hides his face against his slacks. “Thank you for not throwing me in the river, daddy,” Papyrus whispers.

*

When he woke up, he was laying in the shade of a beach umbrella propped up over him. Asgore was still working away at his flowers, apparently done with weeding and now putting down plant food. Papyrus stared up at the pattern on the umbrella, yellow stars on a blue background, trying to hold onto the rapidly fading dream. The images were disappearing too fast to sort through them, until he could only remember feeling afraid.

...Well, he couldn’t expect the Surface to cure his nightmares completely, right?

As Papyrus sat up, rubbing at his eye sockets, Asgore turned to face him. “You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb you. Not too be rude, but you’ve seemed more tired than usual, lately, and the rest seemed like a good idea. No need to become heat sick in the process, thus the umbrella.” He walked over, brushing the dirt from his hands before he held one out to Papyrus, to help him up.

“Thanks, buddy. The sun would’ve wrecked my complexion otherwise, you’re a lifesaver. How long have I been out?”

“About two hours. I do need to retrieve Chara from school soon, but we can chat until then, or you could come along. I...” He went silent at that. Uncomfortably silent.

“Hm? Asgore?” He looked over, and Asgore was ashen-faced, blinking rapidly and staring out into the street. The bag of plant food drooped in his hands, spilling a little. Papyrus got to his feet and crossed over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

It had no effect, and he was starting to get unnerved at how still Asgore had gotten, aside from his eyes. Papyrus followed his line of sight, across the yard and over the other side of the street. Had he caught sight of a badly-tended rosebush or something? There was a hint of gray movement that didn’t really belong against the cheerfully painted house, the green lawn, before a car sliced through and it disappeared.

Normally, Asgore would have gotten angry about someone driving that fast on a residential street. There could be children playing, he would argue, it was deeply unacceptable. But he just exhaled loudly, dropping the plant food in the grass so he could take Papyrus’s arm. “I think perhaps you should head home, my friend. The school will be letting out soon, and I need to be going. It was nice seeing you.” His voice sounded all wrong, more stiff than when he talked to Toriel.

He never spoke to Papyrus like that. His grip was starting to get a little tight, and Papyrus had never considered the possibility of the King actually hurting him, until now. That paw could snap his humerus with little effort, couldn’t it? Papyrus strained to see out into the street, to figure out what Asgore had seen. One of those abnormal monsters? Was Asgore seeing them too now? “Are you sure, I’m cool with coming to go get the kid, wouldn’t mind—”

There was another flicker of gray in the corner of his vision, but Asgore held him in place, keeping him from getting a better look. “Papyrus! Go home immediately. I’m not _asking_ you.”

An order. Asgore had given him an order for once.

The King let go of his arm so that he could teleport away, and he did instantly, appearing in his living room. Wondering what had he just left Asgore with. Wondering if Asgore would be able to look him in the eye after this. For a second, he considered texting Asgore to demand what was going on, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if he wanted one.

The gray monsters really were on the Surface, just like Temmie said. Of course the former King of all Monsters could defend himself, but could Chara? Or some of the weaker monsters?

No, he was being paranoid. The gray monsters hadn’t _done_ anything yet, aside from being creepy and saying cryptic nonsense. Didn’t they deserve to see the Sun too? He couldn’t judge (or Judge) them if that was all they had done so far. He would just have to keep an eye on things, and step up if they caused actual harm.

That didn’t really reassure him, though. He wrote and discarded texts to Asgore, and the King didn’t send him a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh mini-chapter, you are the worst and I'm tired of fussing over you.


	11. Chapter 11

The day just wasn’t going to work in his favor. There wasn’t any way to talk Sans into letting him stay home, not for Alphys’s birthday. Papyrus doubted she’d be devastated at his absence like Sans claimed, but it was easier to give up and save his energy rather than trying to argue.

Still, he felt like he was about to die and it wasn’t noon yet. Even though Alphys and Undyne literally lived five minutes away, Sans wanted to make an entrance and arrive on his motorcycle. The helmet Sans insisted he always wear did very little to protect him from how loud it was, trying his best not to drop her birthday present while still clinging onto his brother. Papyrus was starting to get a stinging headache.

As Sans had probably planned it, they arrived after most of the other guests, and Sans preened (and even flirted a little?) as RG 01 and 02 came out onto the driveway to admire the bike. Yeah, he was definitely flirting, doing a subtle flex. Not that Papyrus could blame him. Several months of retirement from the Guard had not softened them in the least, and Bratty and Catty looked as buff as ever. Maybe more so, now that they were in civvies instead of armor, short sleeves and shorter shorts.

Somehow, it just made him more restless and uneasy, and he just wanted to get inside. It wasn’t just that they were ex-Guards who knew what he was, though that was part of it. Papyrus just felt...out of place. Should he have gone in instead of waiting for Sans? Was it grating on his brother to have Papyrus hovering around while he was trying to be slick and charming? He didn’t have anything to add in, knowing next to nothing about motorcycles other than that Sans loved them, so he just listened and nodded awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. (They were holding hands anyway, so Papyrus doubted Sans had much of a chance. He could still appreciate his brother’s confidence.)

But inside wasn’t much better. Everything felt dream-like: too bright, too loud, the people around him moving too fast. It felt like all of monsterkind had all showed up for Alphys’s birthday, everyone laughing and talking at once.

Papyrus edged along the wall, looking for somewhere to sit down. He was starting to get dizzy, and maybe being vertical wasn’t such a good idea, but the couch was already taken up with some of the old bunny Guards. Bratty and Catty had just squished themselves into the only empty armchair before he could think of moving. And the dining room table was full, _and_ the kitchen was crowded with monsters... At this point, the best he could probably do was to find a secluded corner to sit on the floor, where hopefully no one would notice and come over to talk to him.

And the one person he wanted to bother him wouldn’t look his way. Asgore was taking care to be surrounded by chatting monsters at all times, moving from group to group. Of course he probably wanted to check in with his former subjects, to see how they were adjusting to the Surface over the past few months, but to Papyrus, it mostly looked like an excuse to not be caught alone. The King had been completely silent over the past few days, ever since whatever he had seen in the street the other day. Papyrus had considered going over to his house a few but hadn’t mustered the nerve, so this was the first time he had seen him since.

And then there was the birthday girl herself, laughing with a cluster of monsters, a paper birthday hat haphazardly strapped onto her head and a soda in hand. He tried to shrink out of her view, cursing himself for wearing extra-visible neon orange of all things. If not for Sans insisting on it, she probably wouldn’t have invited him at all. It would be better to stay off her radar; things were already overwhelming enough without adding her booming voice and disapproval to the mix.

He hadn’t brought a present, though he guessed that Sans had anticipated that and picked up a gift certificate to go along with the lovingly chosen sets of glass casserole dishes and throwing hatchets he bought for her. Probably Sans had _also_ scolded him at length for it, but the last few hours were already blurring in his memory, the morning slipping away from him.

Toriel soon emerged from the kitchen, hefting a multi-tiered cake large enough to require the two tables that had been shoved together in the dining room. Everyone around him started to warble out Happy Birthday, led by Sans. He hunched over a little more, wondering if anyone would notice him covering his skull to block it all out. Just...sitting on the floor in the corner, edging closer and closer into the fetal position. Like a cool guy.

Papyrus couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the trick candles Sans had slipped onto Alphys’s cake, which she was still huffing at in incredulous rage. It was getting hard to breathe, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the house for that many monsters. And his hearing was starting to ring from all the noise, the TV and everyone talking at once. How long would it take for Sans to notice if he took a shortcut back home now?

Where was Undyne? Usually a crowd like this would leave her just as distressed as he was. Maybe, if he had been able to move and to pull her out of the crowd, they could have hidden upstairs together until the party settled down. They could watch a little TV or look at dumb videos on her laptop...

But he spotted her a few seconds later, a flash of red hair past the dense crush of people, standing at Alphys’s side. And yeah, she looked a little uncomfortable, but not enough to skip out on her girlfriend’s birthday party. Not enough to huddle on the floor, trying to find an escape route like Papyrus.

Eventually Alphys started hyperventilating and Toriel took pity on her, plucking out the candles to go douse them in the sink. With the far-more reasonable queen gone for a second, Alphys lifted a...Was that a scimitar? Yeah, it looked like a scimitar, which she used to start cutting the cake. Everyone was laughing and cheering her on, and hopefully Sans would save him a piece, because this was way too much for him.

No one seemed to notice him edging out of the room, all clustered around the cake. He passed Toriel on his way to the kitchen, and she only gave him a smile and a brief pat on the shoulder before she headed back to pass out plates. The kitchen was empty, but it was still too loud, so he slipped out the door and into the backyard.

Closing the door was an immediate relief, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath and sat in the grass. No one would mind him taking a break, right? If they noticed at all. He searched his hoodie pocket for a smoke but only fished out a few empty, crumpled packets. These days, he had a hard time remembering to buy more, since Sans refused to buy them with the week’s groceries. (“What would the cashiers think?! I have a _reputation_ to uphold!”) He didn’t have any candy left either, just a few ancient, hardened sticks of gum. He and Sans didn’t chew gum—stuck in the teeth too badly, and it was impossible for them to blow bubbles—so he had no idea why they were in his pocket.

What was wrong with him? He was freaking out over a _birthday_ of all things. Luckily it was for Alphys, since they weren’t that close, but still. What if he had this reaction in a few months once it was Undyne, who would definitely notice and be hurt if he dodged out? What if it happened with Asgore, or Sans?

He sighed, flopping onto his back in the grass. It couldn’t be from overwork, now that he had only the one job. Was he getting sick? Sleeping too much? Going insane?

He wasn’t alone for long. He readied an explanation as the door opened, but it wasn’t who he’d been expecting. Not Sans with a lecture, or Toriel with a concerned look, or Alphys with a piledriver. It was Chara, who stepped out with a plate of cake in each hand. They crossed the lawn to sit at his side, handing over one of the plates once he sat up.

They had a pinched, uncomfortable look on their face, and it was pretty obvious why. “Was it too loud for you, kiddo?”

“Mhm,” they mumbled, having already shoved a bite in their mouth in the few seconds it took to ask. He waited for them to swallow. “It’s getting out of hand in there, I was expected Alphys to start throwing cake. I needed a timeout.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” He cut a tiny piece: chocolate and sliced strawberries. He probably wouldn’t have been able to taste it if he had to eat in there, with the noise and the growing chaos. It was a lot nicer this way, Chara’s shoulder barely brushing his arm, eating in companionable quiet.

“...Have you been alright lately?” Chara looked up at him, chocolate smeared on their lips, eyebrows furrowed.

He laughed, awkwardly. Apparently even a kid could tell something was going on with him. “I’ve been getting that a lot, kiddo. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been coming over as much. Who am I supposed to trick into doing my homework for me when you’re not around? It doesn’t work nearly as well with Undyne. She keeps talking about how it’s more fun if I learn it for myself.”

Shit. First neglecting Undyne, now Chara. (And Muffet, now that he thought about it. It had been a while since he had any time to go to the café, most of his free time put into naps. Did she wonder about him, or did she have a new favorite customer by now, one who actually paid properly?) At this rate, he wouldn’t have any friends at all.

There was no sense lying to the kid, though; they’d probably see right through him, and he felt bad enough as is. He settled for a half-explanation, all of it technically true. “I’ve just been sick for a while. All that hiking to get the Floweys the other week really took it out of me. Lost one of my jobs, which was rough. Sorry about not being around.” He needed a misdirection, considering the skeptical look they were giving him. “How’s school going?”

“Hm, I guess I’ll forgive you,” Chara said, kicking their feet a little in the grass. “School’s okay.”

“Aw, thanks. That’s practically saint-like of you, damn.” He took a bigger bite of the cake; there had been pizza and chips set out for Alphys’s guests, but there was no way he could have waded through all those people to get any. He hadn’t managed to eat breakfast, his share of waffles gone cold and unpleasant before he could drag himself out of bed. This cake was the first thing he had eaten all day.

In between bites of cake they told him about the school science fair, and how they had gotten third place. And didn’t _that_ feel like a kick in the ribs? Maybe with his help they could’ve done better. He needed to start visiting again, probably when they were at Toriel’s. How had he gotten to the point where that was the less awkward option?

He finished his faster than expected, his appetite starting to return. “Do you want another piece? I think it’s calmed down a little in there, and _I_ want more, anyway.” Chara shifted to their feet, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah, maybe a little slice. Thanks, kiddo.” He handed over his plate, and they turned, about to head inside.

The plates fell out of their hands, plastic forks clattering against each other as they hit the ground. Chara took a sharp breath, and Papyrus turned around to see what was the problem.

Surely one of them would have heard the gate door open, the one that led around to the front of the house. There was no way into the backyard except for the gate or the door to the kitchen, unless someone climbed the fence. It wasn’t possible for a wide-eyed, gray monster to have appeared in the yard, walking out from behind one of the trees and slowly coming closer. Had they taken a shortcut?

He had never seen this one before, though they felt familiar somehow. How many of these weird monsters were there? They looked somewhat reptilian, with scales and wide, lidless staring eyes. Like the others, it felt like there was a memory out of reach, like he’d met them before. Their voice was familiar too, when they spoke.

”It makes sense why Toriel took so long to choose a new Captain of the Guard. After all, Captain Gaster... No one could match his skill and dedication. However...” They stared at the ground as they spoke, and the words seemed rehearsed, no emotion to them at all. Why did all the gray monsters keep telling him this?

When Chara moved, it initially looked like they were edging closer to him. Made sense, he was the adult, he was supposed to protect them, though he felt too frozen to breathe, let alone to summon any bones. But they stepped in front of him instead, jamming a shaking fist into their pocket and pulling out a folding knife that they snapped open. It wasn’t the knife they had carried with them through the Judgment Hall on their way to Toriel; he could tell from a glance. They pointed it at the gray monster, red Soul springing out of their chest. They weren’t in range to attack, but if the gray monster came any closer, they’d be ready.

Their voice was far steadier than the rest of them, and they managed to rearrange their face into a strained, creepy smile. “It’s been a while, have all of you been enjoying the Surface? I’ve seen some of you around. It’d be a shame if you ruined it all with whatever you’re planning right now.” They were tensed, waiting for an initial attack, but there wasn’t one. Not even a single bullet aimed their way.

The gray monster completely ignored Chara, their full attention on Papyrus. They were actually looking at him now, and he resisted the urge to cringe back, to hide behind Chara. “However, I think you know that dedication can turn into obsession. Obsession leads to anger, and now that anger is being aimed at you. It’s a little too late to be careful now, Papyrus.”

“Careful of what?” he choked out. “What did I _do_?”

If they were about to reveal his apparent mistake, it was neatly cut off by the door opening. It was easy to recognize those footsteps without turning around, as Sans ran across the yard to join them. Papyrus could guess what would happen next: Sans would be appalled at Chara holding a monster at knife point, someone who was probably one of Alphys’s guests. He would try to stop Chara and protect the gray monster. Right?

But Sans didn’t jump to the gray monster’s defense. Didn’t yell at Chara to stand down, didn’t ask why Papyrus was standing there frozen, watching it happen. He stood beside Chara (who was giving him a confused, startled look that Papyrus probably mirrored), his eye flaring with blue magic, a bone club manifesting in his hand.

Now, the thing was, Sans could fight. Did it all the time with Alphys—whether they called it sparring or not, those two could get brutal. And he had fought Chara on their way out of Snowdin. Though his stamina was pretty low, his magic control was impeccable, some of the best Papyrus had ever seen. Sans could hold his own and usually did.

But it never looked like this, though Sans had yet to make a single attack. Papyrus could feel the malicious intent coming off of him in waves, more dangerous to him as a vulnerable, low HP monster. For a second, he was almost afraid of his own brother, wanting to run, to hide in the house, as if those bones might be turned on him. Sans wanted this monster dead, and Papyrus didn’t know if he could handle his brother, his kind and gentle brother, as a LV 2 monster. It was unthinkable.

Sans was the type of person to try to talk things out, to convince an opponent to stand down. That he didn’t bother, instead erecting a wave of blue bones between the gray monster and the rest of them, terrified Papyrus. Sans left a narrow path for them to head back to the garden door, but if they moved just a few inches towards them, the damage would be immense, all those bones packed so close together. He didn’t directly attack, but the potential was there, waiting for the gray monster to make one wrong move.

Maybe it was worse that it felt familiar. It felt...not _right_ , exactly, but normal to have his brother defending him like this. As if it had happened before. As if that was just how the world was, with Sans shielding him from threats he didn’t fully understand. Like soon Sans would chase the gray monster away and come over to dab at Papyrus’s eye sockets with his bandanna, whispering comfort. Why did it feel like he was supposed to be crying?

The gray monster looked at him, though it was hard to tell with that many bones between them. “And you, Sans Serif—” Maybe the worst part was that Sans didn’t hesitate. Before the gray monster could get another word out, Sans summoned a regular bone, hovering a few inches away from their head, and swung it into their mouth at full force.

There was clear damage and a faint mist of dust in the sunlight, but they took the attack silently. “I’m not interested in what you have to say, thank you,” Sans said in a high, quivering voice.

“I take it you understand perfectly well,” the gray monster replied, not at all sounding like they had just taken a bone to the face at high speed. “That’s all there is.” And they turned and started to walk away.

It didn’t really feel like a result of Sans’s intimidation tactics; the gray monster had apparently said all they wanted to, and now they were leaving. With every step they took, more bones shot up in the place where they just were, Sans sealing them off so they couldn’t change their mind and approach again. Soon Papyrus could barely see them through that many bones and could only guess that they were gone from the sound of the gate.

It took several minutes before Sans seemed convinced that they were gone and slowly started to desummon his bones. The yard was silent aside from Sans panting raggedly. Using that many magical constructs at the same time had pushed him past his limits.

“What,” Chara said in a wobbling voice. “What in the ever-loving fuck was that?”

“There’s no need to swear,” Sans gasped out, his ribcage visibly heaving and his skull freely leaking black goo.

“ _No,_ I think there’s plenty of reasons to swear! Tell me what just happened here!”

It was obvious Sans didn’t want to say anything, but with Chara there, he couldn’t shut the situation down and pretend nothing had happened, like he had with the drawing. The kid was more persistent than Papyrus, and the big brother stare probably wouldn’t work on them.

Folding up their knife (where did a little kid get a rainbow-bladed folding knife anyway? did their parents know?), Chara grabbed at Sans’s sleeve, giving him their best approximation of a puppy dog stare, red eyes wide and even a little watery. Had it really freaked them out that much?

“Sans, please. Do you know them?” How much did Chara actually know about those monsters? He really didn’t think the kid was spending much time in the mountain these days, so that meant Chara must have run into one, or all of them, on their trip through the Underground. How long were they all walking around, repeating cryptic nonsense without anyone noticing?

“I...When Papyrus and I were children...” It was clear he didn’t want to keep talking. Looking back on it, Sans never wanted to talk about their childhood unless it was waving around cute, embarrassing photos of Papyrus. Why had it taken Papyrus so long to realize that half their lives were off limits? “We knew them when we were little, and they weren’t nice at all. That monster knew someone was hurting us, and didn’t do anything about it. We don’t need someone like that in our lives, especially not now. Okay?”

“But you _hit_ him,” Chara objected, conveniently ignoring the fact that they had pulled on a knife on the gray monster. It obviously didn’t count in their mind. “And all they were was a bystander?”

“Maybe I overreacted a little, but I didn’t want you two to get hurt. And it was only a little hit!” Sans wiped at his forehead, then grimaced at the black stain it left on his glove. What about that gray monster was causing that reaction? Was it just stress? “And standing back and doing nothing while someone is hurt is just as bad as actually hurting someone. That’s not the sort of person I want around either of you.”

Was he telling the truth? Papyrus couldn’t remember meeting any gray monsters as a little kid. Were they family friends, teachers, maybe even relatives? “Bro, what do you mean, ‘someone was hurting us’—”

“Sh, Papyrus. It’s not a big deal. It stopped a long time ago, so you don’t have to worry about it now.” Sans’s voice was gentle, his hand on Papyrus’s arm, but he flinched back anyway. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken up at all, so that Chara could get more information out of Sans, but...

Who had hurt them, and why couldn’t he remember?

“But what if they come back again?” Chara demanded. “What if they actually hurt someone, Sans?”

Sans’s shaken honesty of just a few minutes ago was already gone, leaving only the calm, authoritative Brother Voice.“If you see that monster again, just don’t approach them. Don’t talk to them or try to fight them. Stay with the people around you and ignore them, and it’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.” How were they supposed to believe that?

“It’s okay, you two, it’s over now. Let’s just go back the party for now, alright? Alphys has to open her presents, and you don’t want to miss that!” He tried to beam, shooing Chara back towards the house. From their guarded expression, Papyrus had the feeling that their trust in Sans had been shaken.

He knew the feeling.

*  
  
Once Sans had led them inside and washed the black-tinted sweat off at the kitchen sink ( _was_ it sweat?), he waded back into the party, which was still in full effect. No one had seemed to notice the dozens of bones sprouting up in the backyard, having demolished the cake and just now starting on the presents. Apparently no one had gone into the kitchen and seen that debacle through the window? Sans took his place beside Alphys on the couch, demanding that she open his present first.

To her credit, she gave him a concerned look (and muffling a cough in one hand, which sounded a lot like Sans’s, Papyrus realized), but he bowled right past it, shoving the box at her face. Everyone was watching, so she couldn’t really argue with him, and soon she was too distracted with the hatchets, giving one a few test swings and cackling when the rest of her guests inched away.

Luckily people were a bit quieter to hear Alphys’s reactions to her presents, but Papyrus stayed well away, sitting on the stairs to watch. Chara soon joined him after they scavenged the demolished cake for one last slice, though they were mostly picking at it, their head swiveling between the various doors and windows of the house. That gray monster probably wouldn’t come back, but there wasn’t much stopping them if they tried. Would most of these monsters notice them, or would people just assume they were another guest?

He couldn’t pay much attention to presents after that thought.

The party started to wind down once her presents had been unwrapped, Alphys’s acquaintances drifting out while her closer friends remained. Someone turned on the stereo, far louder than was necessary in Papyrus’s opinion. Alphys began to do a weird, thrashing dance, dragging Bratty and Catty in with her when Undyne refused to join her, blushing furiously. He wouldn’t be surprised if drinks had been passed around while they had been in the backyard. Soon it seemed like the entire former Royal Guard was about to start a mosh pit in the middle of the living room.

Sans should have been out there, dancing with Alphys, but he was sagged against the couch, too tired to join her. And it was obvious to everyone, especially Alphys. She tried to tug him to his feet a few times, but he waved her off, probably making some excuse that Papyrus couldn’t hear over the music. On any other day, Sans would have been flailing around with the best of them.

“This is the worst,” Chara muttered next to him, one hand over their ear, trying to lessen the noise while they texted with the other. To summon their parents, it turned out; soon Asgore edged his way past the growing chaos that the ex-guards were creating.

“Are you ready to leave, my child?” For the first time since the party started, Asgore actually looked at him, a apologetic half-smile. Chara got up off the stairs and went to cling to their father’s arm. He stroked their hair, ever careful of his claws. “Do you have a headache? There’s some aspirin in the car, don’t worry. Let’s wave to Alphys and we’ll go... Have a nice evening, Papyrus.”

He didn’t even ask how Papyrus was doing lately. Of course, Chara had to leave, so Asgore couldn’t break out the dadly small talk, but it still felt...empty. By the time he realized he could have confronted Asgore and asked what was going on, both of them had edged past Alphys’s little dance party and out the door.

He wanted to go home too.

*

It wasn’t as hard as he had expected, extracting Sans from the party. Papyrus would have preferred to sneak out, but no, Sans insisted on pulling Alphys to the side and getting a proper goodbye in, hugs and noogies included. And making Papyrus do the same, with decidedly less physical contact. Luckily she didn’t seem drunk enough to be in a punching mood.

  
Sans was too exhausted and disoriented to drive back, and Papyrus probably would have used blue magic on him had he tried it. Instead, they pushed the bike home together, Papyrus trying to take more of the weight himself. He scanned the neighborhood as they walked, but he didn’t see any out-of-place gray.

Papyrus had barely gotten the garage door shut when Sans was already staggering into the house. Locking the windows, Papyrus realized when he caught up. Checking the doors. Pulling the curtains shut, though he usually loved having the sun pouring in. Glancing around, as if he suspected an intruder. All of the calm confidence Sans had shown in the backyard was gone. So much for ‘there’s nothing to worry about.’

Only when Sans put his hand against the wall, blue lines of magic spreading out from under his phalanges, did Papyrus move towards him...to do what? To stop him? It looked like warding magic, intended to protect whatever it was cast on. It didn’t take much effort to cast on small objects, but a whole house? Sans was going to drain himself dry.

“Sans, bro. Please. You’re too tired to be using all this magic...”

“It’ll only take a minute, Papy.” Sans tipped his head back, tracking the course of his magic across the ceiling. Had he done this before? Despite his exhaustion, the movements looked practiced. “Just sit on the couch until I’m done. I need to make the house safe.”

“Sans—” He grabbed at his brother’s arm, thinking that maybe he could pull him away and disrupt his magic before things went too far.

_Ting!_ Sans didn’t have to look to turn Papyrus blue, dragging him out of reach and weighing him down long enough for the protective ward to fully take, the house glowing around them for a few seconds. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, he let his grip on Papyrus’s soul go, just before he wobbled, sinking down to the floor.

“Sans!” He did his best to lift his brother off the floor and over the few feet to the couch. “You can’t overexert yourself like this, bro, I’m serious. You’ll get sick.” _And you’ve already been sick too many times already._

“It has to be safe,” Sans mumbled into the couch cushions, barely moving from the position Papyrus had put him in. “I’m not going to let one of those creatures hurt my baby brother in our own home.”

“You really think they might come here?” When he said it out loud, it seemed obvious, but it hadn’t occurred to him that one of those gray monsters really would march right up to their house, which had always seemed... sacred? Untouchable? Like only good things could happen in it. Aside from the newly created ward, there wasn’t much to stop one of those gray monsters from chucking a rock through a window or just trying to walk through the door, though Papyrus had the feeling it’d be locked from now on.

“It’s better to be careful, okay? You don’t need to worry about it, I’ve got things under control.”

He wanted to argue that he was plenty worried already, no matter what Sans said, but his brother didn’t seem to have the energy for an argument. He was panting into the couch, looking wan and tiny and about ready to pass out. He had to fix this somehow.

Papyrus had never really been good at making healing food. Like all magic, it was about intent, but his never seemed to shine through the way it did for other cooks. Usually he was so busy trying to pour love and health into stirring or chopping ingredients that the food usually burned, or he forgot important ingredients. (His brief foray into baking as a hobby had come to an abrupt end after the one time he made cookies without any sugar. Sans, supportive as he was, couldn’t find anything positive to say about them.)

And Sans’s leftovers wouldn’t do the trick, which was usually his go-to if dinner duties fell to him. Monster food gradually lost its potency over time, and Sans clearly needed something a lot stronger than that. And something more substantial than sandwiches, pretty much the only food Papyrus excelled at. But they did have cheese and tortillas. Quesadillas were pretty low-effort, but they’d probably appeal to Sans’s tastes, right? He even tossed in some of the unidentified green stuff (spinach? kale? dried moss?) that Sans used for his horrible smoothies. Surely that would get him culinary brother points.

He made some tea too, which was more along his skill level. Not sea tea, of course; he didn’t want Sans revived so quickly that he launched back into those paranoid wards. Using the tea mixtures Asgore had given him made an uncomfortable feeling form in his ribcage, but he tried to push it aside.

Satisfied that everything was cooking normally and wouldn’t catch fire if he looked away, Papyrus returned to the living room, to check on Sans. While he had been putting everything together, Sans clearly had slipped off the couch and went upstairs, when he should have been resting. If not for the bundles of embroidery floss in his hands, Papyrus would have assumed he hadn’t moved at all.

“Sans, please. Can’t you rest for a sec? I‘m making this meal for you and everything. Practically gourmet here.”

“I am resting!” He very clearly was not, his hands nearly blurring as he braided together a friendship-bracelet. Sans used to make them all the time when they were little, and it was hard to remember a time when Papyrus hadn’t had one on his wrist, if not two or three. He had only stopped making them about a year after Papyrus became an adult, but obviously he had kept his supplies.

And his skill. It only took a few minutes before he snagged Papyrus’s wrist and tied a completed orange and white bracelet on. “I want you to have a personal ward too, for when you’re out of the house.” When he looked closer, there was definitely a faint blue tinge from Sans’s magic running through it, concentrated at the knot. Sans made another one for himself, cyan and black.

“You sure this is all necessary, bro?” The house, these bracelets. What next? Sans was creative; if he could think of more places for wards, Papyrus knew he’d make them in a second. Was he already going overboard?

Sans huffed. “Think of it like this, then. If nothing happens, then you’ll have a nice bracelet out of this experience, and I’ll have practiced my ward magic, so it’s not a waste. But if we need them, we’ll be safe.”

He might have tried to argue, but he could smell that the quesadillas were starting to burn, and he had to rush back in the kitchen to save them. They were a little charred, but that was added flavor, right? Same with steeping the tea for a little too long.

Sans stared at him as he brought the quesadillas out, eating half of one in a single bite before Sans could take his first one. He expected to be scolded for not bringing out napkins, or for having deplorable manners, but Sans’s response was a little different.

“Papy, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be getting ready to head to the restaurant?”

Shit. He froze, the quesadilla oozing oil onto his hand. If he had been a few seconds faster, he could have had a bite to chew on, to give himself a little more time to think, but instead it stretched out into awkward, suspicious silence.

He could have said that he wasn’t working for the night at all. Or that he had traded shifts with someone, because he hadn’t known how long the birthday party would last. (Though really, he should have claimed work and skipped the party completely.) Or that the restaurant had been tragically burned down the other day, and Papyrus had forgotten to tell him. But Sans was giving him a confused look, picking off strings of cheese from his quesadilla, and he caved. “I got fired from the restaurant gig, bro. Sorry.”

In a normal world, Sans would have been more than just upset or disappointed. There might be shouting or tears, and he would try to get promises out of Papyrus that he would look for a replacement immediately. Maybe Sans would sob about how much potential he had, and how he couldn’t just let it disappear.

The world really was falling apart at the seams, for Sans’s response to be so lukewarm.

He took a delicate bite, chewing almost thoughtfully. When Sans finally did speak, he sounded...relieved? And about as far from angry as he could have been. Something about that made it worse. “Maybe you should stick with just the one for a little bit. There’s plenty of time for a new job later. You’ve been so tired lately that you could use a break for a while.”

He was halfway through his second quesadilla when the meaning of that actually sunk in. There wasn’t really anything stopping one of those gray monsters from going to his work, or to Sans’s campus, or to someone’s house, Papyrus realized. Sans didn’t want him to get a new job because he wouldn’t be safe there, not like at home.

And Sans seemed to have the same idea, diving back into his bracelets the second he was done eating and his hands were clean. He was building a small pile of them on the couch next to him when Papyrus gave up and went to huddle in bed early, staring at his window and wondering if something was going to climb up to it.

He had the feeling that, when he saw Undyne and Alphys again, their wrists would be lined with bracelets too. That Sans would find excuses to go to their friends’ houses to leave them warded, whether they wanted him to or not. Papyrus doubted he would bother asking to do it. Was any of it going to be enough? How far was all of this going to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trends in Undertale that I think are neat in Underswap and don't show up enough: overprotective Sans, terrible cook Papyrus. 
> 
> (I'm sorry how long this took, this chapter hates me. It could be better but I'm just tired of it.)


	12. Chapter 12

It was almost nice being at work, away from Sans’s fussing. He tried not to do it when Papyrus was looking, but he would catch his brother reinforcing the ward or peering out past the curtains, checking for threats. He still went to class, but with less enthusiasm, triple checking the locks before he left the house. The study parties were phased out, and he didn’t go to any of the college’s football games or the meetings for the Monster Student Association. (And Sans was the VP. Was he really going to risk his position just to stay home and watch Papyrus?)

It was getting harder to breathe in the house, because Sans never opened the windows anymore. And the last time he had caught Papyrus with his open to have a smoke, well... It hadn’t been pleasant, let’s say that. But he didn’t like it when Papyrus went out into the backyard or onto the porch to smoke, so what choice did he have? Things were getting out of control.

He had even tried to talk everyone out of weekend jogging, though Papyrus only learned that once he got dressed to go the other week, only for Sans to all but block the door, insisting that it was too chilly out, and it was canceled. Which Papyrus believed for all of a few minutes. Sans hadn’t managed to convince the others, based on Undyne’s confused messages on why they had missed out. No wonder he had been pacing and texting anxiously.

The grocery store was a reprieve in comparison. It was cashiering this time, which usually sucked, but now it was comforting. His hands fumbled a little bit, and he wasn’t as fast as his coworkers, but it was _normal_. Usually the weirdest thing you got in a grocery checkout line was the occasional creepy human buying only condoms and lighter fluid, things like that.

He wasn’t alone, though. Among the human customers and the rare monster, who made sure to join his line and insisted on small talk, there was someone else.

It had been a while since he had seen this one, the little goat kid. Were they really one of those weird monsters? After all that had happened, he should have been afraid, but they didn’t _seem_ dangerous; they had run away from him that first time, after all. The kid wandered in and out of his viewpoint, exploring the grocery store. Maybe they were just interested in all the varieties of food humans offered; they never had so many choices in the Underground, where there was just one type of potato, one brand of pasta sauce.

He kept an eye on them as he bagged groceries and counted change. If it had been one of the others, he might have started worrying once they disappeared behind the shelves blocking the dairy section, but this one hadn’t done any harm yet, right?

They still carried that umbrella with them, and he wondered if it ever left their hands, like some kind of security blanket. And, admittedly, it was cute to see them squeak and shield themself with it when the veggie misters turned on, and to twirl it around themself, somehow managing not to hit a single customer in the process.

For a while, he could almost believe that they weren’t here for him. The kid was just messing around in the grocery store, lingering in the bakery section to look at all the pre-made cakes and pies. It was absurd to wonder if the gray monsters could eat—why wouldn’t they?—but it made him wonder who was taking care of this kid, if anyone. Would their parents soon come out of the woodwork to spout nonsense at him? Did this kid have anyone to give them cake?

It took three laps around the store before the kid finally meandered over. As he scanned a mountain of steaks and made uncomfortable small talk with a draconic monster (“Yeah, Sans is doing great, I’ll tell him you said hi...”), the kid inched closer. They were making a show of looking at all the magazines at each checkout as they inched closer to his, nervously glancing at him from behind their umbrella. He could finally see their face now. They didn’t have pupils.

When they were one checkout away, though, they stumbled back with an affronted look, like they had just walked into a wall, nearly dropping their umbrella. The kid reached out, seeming to pat at the air in confusion, before they looked up at him. “Papyrus, why would you do that?”

He couldn’t ask what he had apparently been doing, but his customer picked up the slack as she handed over her discount card. “Um, Papyrus, your bracelet...” He glanced down to see it glowing faintly blue. No wonder she sounded nervous; humans were still adjusting to coexisting with monsters, and public displays of magic could make them uncomfortable.

“Oh, that? It’s nothing. Just a health charm someone gave me. I think the random glowing means it’s broken, honestly,” Papyrus said, forcing an awkward laugh. It would look bad to his managers if human customers avoided his checkout, so he pulled his shirt sleeve down over it, the fabric enough to smother the dim light. The dragon paid, gathered up her bags, and left, leaving just Papyrus with an empty checkout and a bizarre child staring at him.

His ward was obviously working, just as Sans intended. The kid couldn’t get within ten feet of him, an invisible circle keeping them out. He didn’t have to worry about the gray monsters after all.

But they looked distressed, patting at the wall between them. “Why, Papyrus? We’re just trying to help you, why are you shutting me out?” The ward had left their voice a little distorted, but he could still understand them. They tilted their face up, and... _fuck._ Were those actually little tears beading up? “You shouldn’t wear something like that, it makes it so much worse. He’s already really, really mad at you.”

He couldn’t answer, not with a human showing up with a million coupons, half of them expired. He doubted anyone else in the store could see the kid, or an employee would have shown up by now, asking if they had lost their parents and needed to make an announcement on the intercom.

They rubbed at the fur around their eyes, sniffling harder. “Papyrus... Why would you even need a ward? All we’re doing is talking to you.” Well, they had done a bit more than that, based on the stalking and the creepy half-threats. “I’m gonna have to tell on you, but I don’t want you to get in trouble!”

The sniffles soon turned into sobs, fully confirming that he was the only one who could see or hear them. It was hard to placate the human and their insistence over the sanctity of their coupons while there was a creepy child starting to wail about how he was going to get hurt. And over what, a tiny ward bracelet? It wasn’t like any of them could get close enough to punish him for wearing it.

And the kid didn’t leave after that. They just plunked themselves down against the rack of gum and candies, clutching at their umbrella and watching him. For his entire shift. Luckily they managed to calm down enough that they weren’t crying the whole time, but the staring wasn’t much better. He didn’t have a chance to figure out what was going on or comfort them, surrounded by customers and coworkers. If he wanted to keep this job, he wasn’t going to start talking to what everyone else would see as empty air.

And when work was finally done, the goat kid _followed him out of the store_. He would’ve liked to have a smoke in the parking lot to settle down his nerves, but not if this kid was hovering around. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he might have tried talking to them, but... They seemed to catch on, a betrayed look flashing onto their face in the second before he landed in his own bedroom. He changed out of his uniform and smoked through half a cigarette, the window cracked open, before they arrived.

Apparently the little goat kid could be just as creepy as their companions, when they wanted to. The kid came jogging up the sidewalk, panting for breath. Had they seriously followed him home? Out of all of them, Papyrus liked this kid the most, but this was stretching it a lot.

Maybe they caught a glimpse of him in the window before he leaned out of sight, because they started to call out, still confident that only Papyrus would hear. “Papyrus! Papyrus, you have to listen to me, I—”

The screaming was so shrill that it didn’t sound much like a monster at all. He peeked up over the windowsill to confirm it, but he shouldn’t have bothered. The house was glowing a deep blue around him, all that he needed to know.

The kid had stepped forward while they were yelling up to him, from the sidewalk to the edge of the lawn. Close enough to trigger the ward. It seemed to go on for minutes, and Papyrus pressed himself against the wall, refusing to let himself look. The blue-tinted magic lapped against his back, like a cool stream running against him as it tortured a little kid.

He only peeked out again once the screaming stopped. They had managed to stumble out of range again, sinking down onto the concrete and holding themself. Their clothing and fur were blackened and smoking in patches, and there was a spray of dust left on the grass. It was hard to tell how much dust there actually was on a gray monster, but the damage was probably worse than he could see. He hoped he was only imagining the smell of charred fur wafting up towards him. “Y-you’re gonna get in so much trouble,” the kid bawled, with the exhaustion of a little kid pushed far past their limit. “He’s gonna know, and he’s gonna be so mad...”

Why did this kid care so much that they were willing to follow him home? Who was going to punish him?

The kid finally pulled themself up, rubbing the tears out of their eyes and stumbling away, limping heavily on the foot that must have collided with the ward. That was for the best; who knew if Sans could sense the house ward going off? He could be on his way, and Papyrus didn’t want to know what his brother might do to a little gray kid. Hopefully one of the other ones could heal them up, give them a hug, make sure they were fed. They deserved at least that much.

*

He doubted that telling Temmie about Sans’s recent behavior would help at all. It probably wouldn’t make them change their schedule to something more convenient for Papyrus, and it certainly wouldn’t make them cut down on the visits.

It was getting harder to make himself go back into the Underground, anyway. He would feel phantom pains in his ribs whenever he saw Temmie. Were they going to escalate, hurting him more and more whenever he fucked up? And there was something else, something he couldn’t put into words as he stood at the entrance of the Underground. He didn’t pay much attention to geology; he had no idea what kinds of rocks the mountain was made of. Usually he didn’t even look.

The rocks making up the mouth of the cave looked...stained. Burnt, almost, darker than the cliff under his feet. Had Temmie started a fire or something? Did they have fire magic like their parents? It seemed like such a weird thing to get caught up on, but he struggled to walk past it, lingering outside the entrance as the sun beat down on him. They were just rocks. Nothing to be freaked out over.

After nearly ten minutes of pacing and checking his texts, in case Sans found him missing, he managed to cross the threshold and walk into the throne room over black-splattered grass, breathless, his ribs tight, and...Temmie wasn’t there.

They had a routine by now. Temmie would be waiting at the same spots, usually in New Home, sitting on the stairs or wandering around in the Judgment Hall. The specific spot varied, but usually he could track them down in a minute, or they would hear his footsteps and come to meet him. It wasn’t like them to forget.

But now, the tiny creature was nowhere to be found. He checked the usual places in Asgore’s house and wandered down to the walkway above the Capital, hoping he could see a tiny bit of moving color between the white buildings. (The path was covered in dark blotches, like Temmie had spilled paint.) His mind wanted to say fuck it and leave, but his feet weren’t down with the plan. Where the hell was Temmie? Would he have to comb the entire Underground, just because they couldn’t remember that they were supposed to meet? He couldn’t leave until he found them and they let him go, even if that took days.

(If they had accidentally slipped into the lava or tumbled into the abyss in Waterfall, he was totally fucked.)

If he was unlucky, they might be all the way back in the Ruins. Had they wanted to garden so badly that they didn’t bother waiting for him to shortcut them there? He could be down here all day or longer; a lot of tiny places for someone that small to hide away in. That might have been feasible if Sans hadn’t become so overprotective, but he couldn’t get away with it anymore.

Luckily the elevator was working, and he took it back to Hotland after a quick walk along the Capital’s main road without finding them. No furball in the hotel or the club, so he braced himself and walked into the sweltering heat. Hopefully they weren’t wandering the Core, because he was going to save that until last.

He hadn’t seen any gray monsters yet, but he tried to stay alert, as he cut through Grillby’s old territory and towards the vent puzzles. Some of them could teleport, and he didn’t want that cat monster sneaking up on him. Did the goat kid tell all of them he was warded, so they wouldn’t bother? Or at least he tried to convince himself of that. How was he getting this jumpy when they were leaving him alone, just like he wanted?

For some reason, the door to the north puzzle room was lit up, when the others were dark. Had Temmie gotten bored or distracted waiting for him and went in to solve it? The reasoning was enough for him to jump the vents over to the door, though the spinning was starting to make him nauseated. Stepping in, he scanned the room, not seeing the small creature.

Instead, there was a door.

He knew what these puzzle rooms looked like—one entrance, black walls with no decoration, only big enough to hold the console and screen of the puzzle. They didn’t have gray doors set to the side. It was possible they had been renovated, since it had been a long time since he had last visited, but... Where did it lead, when there was only (supposed to be) a steep drop into lava on the other side?

He crossed the tile floor (weren’t the floors reddish-purple, not black?), each step lagging. Maybe Temmie was inside. Maybe it was just a very shallow storage closet. Maybe it was nothing, and it made no sense at all for him to stumble and hesitate, not wanting to approach. A cold sweat started to form on his bones, despite the Hotland air seeping into the puzzle room.

With a shaking hand, he reached out to open the door. The icy knob turned easily, unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, mostly uneventful chapter. Poor Goner Kid.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has incestuous noncon and is kind of intense; if that’s potentially upsetting, there’s a summary in the endnotes you can check first.

He found himself walking into the white room behind the door, though everything in him screamed not to. And there was a monster there, a black shape on a featureless, white room. It looked _melted_ , somehow, an oozing black body with patches of hardened silver in it. And it was a fucking enormous monster, at least a foot taller than Papyrus, probably more.

 _Gaster_ , his mind told him, and the thought was painful. Not it, but he. Not just a monster, but his father. _This is Gaster, and you are in trouble._ His face seems to be frozen in its grin (white like bone, but abnormally smooth), but he could feel irritation hazing off of him. Anger.

He didn’t seem to have working arms: there was the suggestion of them, but they looked like they had fused into his sides, unable to be moved. To compensate, Gaster had several sets of detached, floating hands, each black and white, with a neat hole carved in each of the palms.

“I can tell from your expression that I don’t have to introduce myself, which would be absurd even by your standards. At least you haven’t failed in that regard. Come here, Papyrus.” When he didn’t step forward, one of the hands floated closer, on a course headed towards his face. He flinched back, but it didn’t manage to connect before it was pushed away. A thick, semi-opaque sphere of blue magic bloomed around him, keeping it back.

It was Sans’s ward, the bracelet Papyrus hadn’t bothered to take off since Sans had first tied it on. Was it really protecting him? Apparently Gaster was a bigger threat, for this response to be much stronger than it been for the little kid. “N-nah, I think I’m good staying over here...”

It could only do so much, though. He backed up, fumbling for the doorknob, as the hands formed identical fists, ready to bear down on his shield. Not wanting to look away, he managed to feel his way along the door until he found the knob, turned it...and it was locked. Who had closed it from the other side? One of those gray monsters?

He reached for a shortcut and found...nothing. Static. Nausea so sudden and immense that he was surprised he didn’t throw up all over his ward. Was Gaster blocking his magic somehow? He tried for a blaster instead, hoping to blast down the door, but the backlash was enough to make double over, gasping for breath. What was happening to him?

The hands flew forward in unison, crashing into the ward with five simultaneous punches. It shattered with a sound of bells, the blue energy evaporating around him. As he watched, frozen in place, a hand floated over and tore the bracelet from his wrist, letting the strands fall to the floor and into a puddle of black goo. It soon disappeared from view completely, like Gaster had consumed it.

“I never understood why either of you bothered with such trivial shields. They were never a good source of magic practice, after all. If you _had_ to bother with such silly toys, the least your brother could have done was make you practice it for yourself, rather than letting you become so lazy.” He moved closer, and the glass-like fragments of the ward were swallowed up under his black mass. “Not only that, but I’ve been told you’ve been playing with much larger shields, trying to keep me out of your home. You clearly haven’t earned the privacy you’re trying to create.”

He wanted to shrink back, to press himself against the door, but he couldn’t move. “Dad, I.... I’m sorry, I...”

Gaster spoke over him. “It came to my attention that you have been remiss in your duties. Perhaps it’s not surprising, you’ve always been irresponsible, but I would have hoped you’d apply some effort to your sole life’s purpose.” Several of those hands floated over, dragging him back to the middle of the room.

Papyrus let out a garbled, wordless protest, as Gaster shifted close enough to snatch up his wrists, holding them above his head with what seemed like almost no effort. With another hand, he pushed up Papyrus’s hoodie and shirt, leaving it bunched up under his jaw. He stared at Papyrus’s empty rib cage, in what seemed to be annoyance.

He sighed, taking one of Papyrus’s lower ribs between two fingers. “Summon your soul, or I’m going to break this. You have five seconds...” Before Gaster could start counting down, it was already flickering into shape, looking smaller and dimmer than it should have. He extracted it from his rib cage with none of the gentleness Papyrus thought a soul deserved, like it was in romance novels. Gaster wasn’t squeezing, but his grip was tight and unkind. His soul had never been touched like this before; not by healers, who had always been more careful, or even during masturbation, when he had barely brushed against the surface of it.

Without any sort of gentleness or care, Gaster wormed one finger into his soul, plunging straight into the center of it. All he could do was watch; any struggling and Gaster might hurt his core permanently as punishment. Its normal amber shine was getting dimmer. “You haven’t soul-bonded with them?” Gaster asked, annoyed. “You’re denying your masters your very core? That’s more disappointing than I would have expected. No wonder you got into your dense little head that you could abandon them.”

“I’m not abandoning them! I swear...” He could have argued that Asgore had been the one to bring it up, but he doubted that would have helped.

“Then _why_ were you discussing giving up your post with Asgore? I overheard you, Papyrus. You cannot lie to me.” Gaster squeezed down on his Soul, enough that it felt like his entire body was being crushed in a fist made of ice, just barely beneath the point of true damage. “I had hoped that you would be fulfilling your duties properly, so I wouldn’t have to check this. Remember that you brought this upon yourself.” Before Papyrus could figure out what that meant, another hand reached down to his shorts.

Papyrus couldn’t manage to struggle, frozen with shock. (And, if he tried, Gaster had more than enough hands to restrain him.) His own father couldn’t do that, right? His own father wouldn’t be unbuttoning his shorts just enough to snake an impersonal hand down to the cradle of his pelvis. Gaster rubbed at his pubic symphysis with harsh movements, something that could never have gotten Papyrus aroused, even if his mind was on board.

Gaster seemed to realize the same thing. “You clearly haven’t been trained well enough,” he muttered. Papyrus hoped that it meant Gaster would stop and give up, and he seemed to, pulling back so that his hand was resting on Papyrus’s iliac crest.

A shimmering black tendril reached up to his face, an extra pair of hands manifesting to keep his skull from moving. It was probably the worst thing to come to mind, but he’d seen a little of Undyne’s dubious hentai collection, and he clenched his teeth, expecting it would try for his mouth.

It didn’t. He could barely squirm, unable to turn his head as it approached his right eye socket, leaving a damp film on the lower rim. With a close, obscene squishing, it started to press in.

Skeleton monsters had magic blocking off their eye sockets, so that foreign matter wouldn’t get in accidentally. Water could go through, but he hadn’t encountered much else that could. He’d bemoaned all the jokes and japes he could have gotten away with if he could put things inside his skull, but he had never felt so grateful for that bit of biology before. The tendril collided with the wall, smearing black goo across his vision.

Maybe it was enough to make Gaster give up, maybe it would go away, please go away—it reared back and pressed forward again, the point pushing into the wall painfully, sharper than the worst migraine he had ever felt. For a moment, he hoped his magic would be strong enough to hold against it... before he felt something inside his head burst, and it dove inside. The end of it was narrow, but it got wider as it moved inside, until it scraped against the edges of his eye socket, having to shove to coil inside his head.

It was horribly warm, dripping inside him, and he could hear Gaster speaking again, this time echoing from the depths of his head. Was he crawling into Papyrus’s mind? Could Gaster hear his thoughts? Could Gaster hear him begging him to stop, to take it out, even though Papyrus couldn’t force out the words? “Perhaps this will make you stop fussing.”

The tendril in his socket squirmed, an image forming in his mind. If it wasn’t for the black drips down the sides, as if he was seeing it on a screen, he would have wondered if it was a memory. But no. He had never seen Toriel and Asgore together, not like that: her in full ceremonial armor, him in robes a lot more intricate than the ones he used to wear. And...they were in the throne room? A throne room with both thrones set up?? And Papyrus was kneeling in the flowers, waiting for them.

Gaster was forcing him to think of this, he realized, literally forcing it into his head, and his body was heating up in response. All the reminders and distractions Sans had taught him for intrusive thoughts all seemed to vanish at once, and there was nothing left to drive the images away. The fantasy Dreemurrs were working on him in tandem, and he watched as Toriel lowered a version of him into Asgore’s lap, their hands over him, hers on his ribs and Asgore’s down his shorts... He could almost feel their touches on his physical body...

The images of Toriel and Asgore picked up speed. Soon, the Papyrus in the vision was being shoved down, unceremoniously stripped, his legs spread...

With a rush of warmth shooting through his bones, orange energy gathered in his pelvis. “There we are,” Gaster said, withdrawing enough to give it room to form. “What did you hope to gain, hiding it from me?”

Both his dick and cunt emerged from the swirling magic, and Gaster wasted no time jamming his hands back in. The stimulation had been enough to get him started, but he was still completely dry, biting down on the tentacle as Gaster worked two fingers inside of him. This was his _father_ , he couldn’t be doing this, this couldn’t be happening at all...

His walls clamped down, trying to protect him in vain. And it worked, initially; Gaster could only get about an inch in before Papyrus was too tight to let him any farther. He jabbed forward, trying to keep going, and Papyrus groaned, feeling like he was being stabbed open. Was he tearing? Was that dust?

“Dad, please stop, why are you doing this, _d-daddy this isn’t okay, you’re hurting me_...” He hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but maybe Gaster would stop if he remembered that Papyrus was his kid. It had been such a long time that maybe he had just forgotten it.

But it was the wrong thing to say. Gaster gave an annoyed sigh, his body rippling before another tentacle formed out of it. Using two pairs of hands to pry Papyrus’s jaw open, he jammed the tentacle into his mouth, gagging him. He was lucky he didn’t naturally have a throat for it to violate as well, like a flesh monster; if he had, Gaster would have probably already been forcing into it. “You’re an adult, so behave like it and stop whining. It wouldn’t hurt if you’d just cooperate.” Luckily it didn’t move around, the way the one in his eye socket was, but it was horrible enough just to feel it coiled in there, oozing against his teeth.

Gaster withdrew his fingers, but it wasn’t to be merciful. He ran his fingers through the black goo of his torso, slicking them up before he pushed back in. The substance was cold and horribly thick but it almost passed for lubrication. It was accompanied by the mental image of Asgore slamming into him as Toriel held him down, and Papyrus’s body couldn’t help responding. Gaster shoved forward as far as he could, regardless of Papyrus biting down on the tentacle in his mouth, until he reached what would have been a cervix in a normal cunt.

He pulled them out just as fast, holding his fingers up in front of Papyrus’s face. There was dust, bright against the black goop on his fingers, a lot more dust than the tiny hint of orange that was supposed to be Papyrus’s arousal. He could feel more of it leaking down his femurs, gritty against his bones.

“How disappointing. As I expected, it seems you haven’t let Asgore have you yet. How childish of you to deny your King the use of your body.” Was he somehow managing to sense that he hadn’t taken Asgore’s dick, just from the quality of his magic? Was that even possible?

“And what of Her Majesty? As the current ruler, it is even more unacceptable for you to be ignoring her needs.” If Papyrus’s mouth had been free, he could have told Gaster that he _had_ fucked Toriel, sort of. Did it count in Gaster’s eyes if Papyrus was the one being pleasured? It was horrifying to think he would freely admit it to his own father, but if it saved him from more pain, he’d list off his tiny sexual history in detail.

But Gaster wasn’t listening. Papyrus couldn’t have been softer, Gaster didn’t seem to care as he reached down to grab his dick, his fist clenching down on it. “Have you at least serviced our beloved Queen properly?”

He only had a second to wonder how Gaster would be able to tell, before he pressed one of his index fingers against the head of Papyrus’s dick. Making no attempt to be gentle, he shoved his fingertip inside the slit.

He bit down on the tentacle, trying to ground himself, only to sever it in half, the end of it dissolving into goo that flooded his mouth and spilled out down his cervical vertebrae. It felt like Gaster was tearing him open inside. There was no way his finger could fit, but somehow it was happening, that thin finger reaching in all the way to the proximal phalanx, burning with each inch. He could see the faint white of it through the clear magic of his dick, which almost looked like it was bulging from the intrusion...

“What are you whining about? Papyrus, you’re not a child anymore. This is one of the most important aspects of your duty as Judge, especially now that you don’t have any judicial cases, yet you’re neglecting the Crown. Surely you can weather a little bit of discomfort to serve our Majesties. If you behaved for them, it would hardly be painful at all. Though if either Toriel or Asgore _wants_ you to be in pain, well, then who are you to deny them?”

Gaster pulled his finger out, waving it in the air in front of Papyrus. There was more dust leaking out of his dick, now that he had let go of it. Apparently that was all the proof he needed to know that Papyrus hadn’t fucked Toriel. “You haven’t taken her magic either! How can you be so selfish? They have been nothing but kind and deserving, and yet you refuse them, you try to abandon them, you come down into the Underground to play with that child instead...” He grabbed onto Papyrus’s shoulders, shaking him until he thought his skull was going to topple right off and crack on the floor. The images in his head finally cut out, the only thing keeping him even remotely turned on despite the pain, and his brutalized junk disappeared with it.

“Where did I go wrong in raising you? Was it merely my absence? Or is there just something inherently broken in you, that you aren’t following your duties?” The tentacle slid out of his mouth, Gaster finally wanting him to speak up, but he could only gag, retching black goo down his front. “When you return to the Surface, you _will_ make up for this failure, do you understand?” Papyrus nodded frantically, if only so Gaster would stop shaking him, but it didn’t seem convincing enough.

Underneath Gaster’s shouting, which was becoming more and more distorted, Papyrus could hear something outside of the room. A voice, the sound of magic. Banging against the door. A rainbow-colored light shining underneath the bottom, before the door slammed open.

The only thing he could think was that he hoped that the black mass surrounding him obscured things enough that Temmie couldn’t see what had happened to him. It had been centuries since they were an actual child, but it still felt wrong. As awful as they were, they still didn’t deserve to see that.

“Get away from him,” Temmie shrieked, and from their tone, he had the feeling they could tell what was going on. “I order you—”

“I believe I’m no longer under your command, dear MK,” Gaster said calmly. “You may leave.” Suddenly the air behind Papyrus was crowded with hands, created just in time to shatter under the hail of bullets Temmie launched forward. Papyrus distantly wondered if he could feel pain in them.

“What?! Shit, uh... Papyrus! I order you to stop him!”

How? He managed to summon a few frail, small bones, but when he launched them towards Gaster, they merely sunk into the mass of his body, without causing any damage. His blasters were still out of commission, judging from the bolt of pain that traveled down his spine when he tried to summon one. But he had one thing left.

Papyrus called on his Karmic Retribution. If Gaster had HP, Papyrus couldn’t see it, but he still lurched backwards as a veil of purple magic fell over him. The tentacles inside Papyrus’s retracted, and he sputtered for air he didn’t really need. Finally his wrists were freed, and he had a chance to fix his shorts and finally cover his bare pelvis.

The drips of goo started to pull back into him, his whole body compacting. It must have been painful, but Gaster looked pleased. Maybe Papyrus was delusional, but that frozen smile seemed a little wider. Gaster’s form twisted, the hands fading, and just...stopped existing? If Papyrus had eyelids, he would have assumed he blinked. The white room was just an empty white room, and the only proof of Gaster’s presence was the mess still smeared all over Papyrus.

It was over.

*

Things were foggy after that.

Reality came back in drips and trickles. He was sitting on the ground, slumped against the wall of the puzzle room. Above him, Temmie stood on the puzzle console, trying to complete it. Having a difficult time, if their little squeaks and grunts of annoyance were anything to go by. The gray door was gone, and he wished that meant he could pretend that none of it had happened.

But there was enough physical proof that he couldn’t just stuff the experience into a mental corner where he would never have to think of it again. There was black splattered down his front, sticky and clinging, and with a pang, he realized that maybe his hoodie was done for. He could scrape some of the mess off, so it wouldn’t ruin their washer, but what if that wasn’t enough to salvage his favorite piece of clothing? It wasn’t his only jacket, but it was the one he wore most often. Sans would probably notice if he threw it out...

Temmie finally won the puzzle, cuing a cheerful, obscene little jingle. They hopped down to the floor beside him. “Aren’t you done moping yet? God, we can’t wait here all day. He could come back any minute. Get up!” For all that they tried to sound annoyed, they couldn’t stop glancing past him in case the door appeared again.

His limbs still didn’t feel like they were quite attached, but he heaved himself up, clinging to the console when his legs threatened to buckle. Temmie huffed and lead him out, briefly surveying the air vents with an annoyed look. “We don’t have time for that right now, teleport us back.” When he stared at them in confusion, they launched a bullet at his ankle, though he could barely feel it. “To New Home, you idiot!”

He knelt down, nearly toppling over before he could manage to put a hand on their little back. He imagined New Home in his mind, but when he reached out to it, his magic snapped back, dissolving in a useless mist around them. The second attempt didn’t work either, his skull aching with the effort. He didn’t want to disobey, but he worried that, if he pushed too hard, he might fuck up and launch them into the cavern wall or something. And once the idea took hold, he couldn’t push it out of his mind, mental images of them slowly crushed to death in the rocks.

“I...I don’t think that’s gonna work...”

“What? Oh, _come on!_ ” Temmie stomped their little paws, though the gesture didn’t make a sound. “Do I have to do everything around here? Just follow me then, if you’re going to be this useless.”

Luckily, Temmie seemed familiar with the vent puzzles, so they immediately led him down the correct path. For once, their tiny strides worked in his favor; everything from the waist down ached immensely, and he couldn’t move any faster than a stumble.

The distance from Hotland to New Home had never seemed so long. His magic was long gone, but it still hurt to walk, like he had thorns shoved in the holes of his sacrum. Still, they managed to make it to the hotel stairs without incident, far enough that he thought they were safe.

There was a scuff on the floor behind them as they walked across the hotel lobby, heading for the elevators. Just the tiniest noise, without the accompanying sound of the doors opening, but it was enough. It seemed to take forever for him to turn around, his bones refusing to respond. Was it Gaster?

Temmie didn’t have that trouble. They launched a trio of rainbow-colored, spiked bullets, slamming into the gray cat monster who had followed them.

Papyrus managed to turn in time just to see their chest shredded apart, torso collapsing into dust. There was a horrible moment where their head was still hanging in the air, their legs still standing freely, before the rest dissolved too. The thing they were still holding in their hand, the thing that they had encouraged Papyrus to look at, clattered to the ground. He could look at it now, what seemed like a mask resembling Gaster’s face....

“What are you just standing there for, go!” As Temmie herded him towards the elevator, the dust started to shift, swirls of it lifting into the air. As the door slid shut, it had formed into the shape of a body again.

( _The gray monsters couldn’t die._ )

Would the monsters follow them? Would someone be waiting there when the elevator door opened again? Temmie didn’t seem concerned, but Papyrus didn’t know how safe they would really be, once they got to New Home. The path was clear when the elevator finally arrived, but that didn’t mean much, not if some of them could teleport.

“Ugh, you’re gonna drip on the carpet,” Temmie whined as he walked into the house, locking the front door behind them for what little protection it gave. “Go clean that off, honestly. You’re grosser than normal.” They darted into the bedroom, leaving him in the hall.

Papyrus stumbled into the bathroom, trying his best not to leave a trail of goo behind him. Without looking in the mirror, he turned on the sink, letting the water get warm before he lowered his face into the stream.

The black sludge was sticky, and he rubbed at his face as hard as he could, trying to get it off. What was he going to do about the stuff _inside_ him? Would it be stuck there forever? He splashed a little water into his eye sockets but only got a dribble of murky liquid out. Did he need to put a hose in his socket or something? Gargling did an okay job of clearing out his mouth, but there was probably black traces still stuck between his teeth.

(Man, he was actually thinking about flossing. Sans would be so proud.)

Once the outside of his skull felt clean, he looked up, wincing at his reflection in the mirror. What was he going to do about the spill of black down his front, halfway dried from walking through Hotland? His clothes were a wreck.

And there was something else, when he raised his arms to remove his hoodie. On his wrist, around the rune, there was more black—not a thick layer of black goo, but a _burn_. Once he had noticed it, the pain finally registered. There wasn’t any dust flaking off of it, and his HP hadn’t changed, but he was clearly burned. Had Gaster hurt him while he had been restraining his wrists?

With his other hand, he turned the cold water on, running his wrist under it with a grunt. It would have been better if he hadn’t noticed it; then he could have used that hand to keep cleaning himself, without feeling any pain at all. And how was he supposed to hide it from Sans? It didn’t reach up to his fingers, but it surrounded his rune and stretched a few inches from his wrist down his radius and ulna, a horrible blackened color. Maybe if he kept his hand in his pocket, or bandaged it up, no one would notice. Shit, how was he supposed to use his hand like this?

But he couldn’t let the pain distract him. Scraping at his hoodie with the hand soap at the sink, he tried to get as much of the black off as he could using his undamaged hand. It had seeped into the orange, a deeper stain than he could get out by himself, but he had gotten off enough of the goo that maybe a trip through the washer could salvage it after all?

He wrung as much gray-tinted water out of his hoodie as he could, then left it over the side of the tub to dry. His shirt had splotches of goo on it as well, but it was a black shirt, so it wouldn’t be that visible. He wasn’t that attached to it anyway, so maybe he could just throw it in the trash once he got home.

But he wasn’t completely clean yet. As much as he wanted to never take his shorts off again, as much as he wanted to _live_ in his shorts and forget the bones underneath, he could barely take a step without being hyperaware of goo and dust left on his pelvis and femurs. With another glance to confirm that the bathroom door was locked, for all the good it would do if Gaster came back, he inched his shorts and sandals off and squatted in the bathtub, pulling the shower curtain closed.

There was a lot more dust than goo down there, just flecks and drops of it splattered on his empty pelvis. He turned on the hot water, painfully hot even on bones, and tried to clean it away. He had to practically claw at his sacrum to clean it off, but he didn’t mind the scratches he was leaving. It felt better than the phantom sensation of Gaster’s hands.

(He couldn’t let Asgore or Toriel touch him when he was still covered in his father’s fluids.)

Temmie was squeaking in the next room, the words buried under the sound of the water, but the tone was unmistakable: getting annoyed, probably bored of waiting for him. There was a single, threadbare towel left in the back of the cabinet, and he roughly dried himself off.

Temmie scowled at him when he returned, but he was deemed clean enough to be allowed into the children’s bedroom. He slumped down on his usual spot on the floor.

They only let him sit for a few minutes, staring down at the fibers of the carpet. Their movements angry, they headed over to the closet, wrenching the doors open with more force than necessary. Temmie retrieved a faded cardboard box, practically throwing it at Papyrus’s feet, clattering its contents.

When he didn’t move to examine the box (or move at all), Temmie huffed and did it themself, spreading the contents out on the floor. It was a board game, he realized distantly, as Temmie arranged the board with bits of colored plastic.

“If you’re not going to be entertaining, then play a game with me. Do _something_ , not just sitting there.”

*

He played with them, but Temmie hadn’t ordered him to care. They won every round of the board game, mostly because he couldn’t focus at all. It was possible Temmie was cheating, and Papyrus just didn’t notice.

Apparently silent dice rolls weren’t too fun for them either. They shoved at the board after the third game, skewing cards and tokens over the floor. “Go home, Papyrus. You shouldn’t be here.”

Obediently, he got to his feet, waiting at the door for a further command. “So, when’s next time?” As much as he wanted to never come back, he didn’t have much of a choice. Right?

An order didn’t come. A starburst of magic slammed into the wall beside him, tearing through the faded wallpaper and leaving a sizable dent. He was too drained to flinch, but at least Temmie hadn’t been aiming at him. Their next shot would probably land; they looked furious, trying to tear at the carpet underneath them. “You’re not supposed to be down here, you idiot! He’ll get you again if you keep coming Underground. Why would you willingly go back to that? How are you always so _stupid_?”

Something like a sob fell from their mouth, but that couldn’t be it. Temmie didn’t cry, if they even had functional tear ducts set in that little plushie toy of a body. “Go to the Surface and grovel for Asgore and Toriel. I don’t care if you come back or not! You’re not needed here— _I don’t want you anymore._ ”

*

He couldn’t remember getting home. One minute he was trying to wobble his way out of New Home, his still-damp hoodie looped over his arm, and the next minute his brother was shaking him. Had he fallen asleep?

He was prone on his mattress, his blankets kicked to the bottom. From the lack of scolding, he had probably changed into clean clothing, glancing down at himself to check. Yep. No black spots on his shorts, no goop drying his shirt into a stiff mess. No stained hoodie at all, which was probably why he was shivering. Where had he left it? Hopefully not in plain sight, where Sans would get to it on one of his laundry crusades.

Sans’s touch became more gentle, just gripping his shoulders rather than shaking. “Are you feeling okay?” He pulled a glove off, resting his hand on the back of Papyrus’s forehead. Skeletons didn’t really get fevers the way other monsters and humans did, but Sans liked doing the action of it while checking Papyrus’s magic for irregularities.

Whatever Sans seemed to find in him made him pull back, his smile faltering. What had he seen inside Papyrus?

“I’ll bring you lunch, don’t get up, okay? Just rest for a bit.” (Was it lunchtime? He had no idea.) Sans gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, hurrying out of the room before Papyrus could think to sit up. And why bother? He didn’t want to move, his body still aching.

Soon Sans rushed back in, carrying a plate of sandwiches and a mug of tea. The idea of putting anything in his mouth made him nauseated, but at least it wasn’t tacos. Sans had put together peanut butter and honey sandwiches—his childhood favorite. Sans must have thought he looked awful to drag that out.

Unfortunately, Sans seemed committed to making him eat, carefully maneuvering him to a sitting position and watching as he wedged a corner of a sandwich in his mouth. There was...not a taste, but a weird, slippery texture left on the roof of his mouth and in between his back teeth, and it was hard to taste the sandwich once he was aware of it. He wished he had the energy to get up and use mouthwash. Swishing a gulp of tea around wasn’t enough to dislodge it, and it was hard to taste anything now that he had noticed it.

And the whole time, Sans was just...watching. Straightening his blankets, getting up to tweak the thermostat in the hall, offering to bring him medicine and soup if he wasn’t feeling up to the sandwiches. He declined all of it.

He was trying to favor his undamaged hand, keeping the other one hidden in the blankets so Sans wouldn’t see the burn. Which almost immediately _backfired_. Sans didn’t say anything, but his gaze settled on Papyrus’s other wrist as he raised a sandwich half to his mouth. A wrist that did not have the ward that Papyrus had been wearing 24/7 since Sans had given to him. He wasn’t nearly coordinated enough to tie that thing back on with one hand, so it had gone into the shower and to bed with him. Sans knew he wouldn’t just take it off.

It was absurd to think Sans could know everything just from that tiny detail, but Papyrus felt analyzed, picked apart as Sans continued to stare at him, with an ambiguous expression. It was ridiculous, but what if his loving, compassionate older brother thought he was... What? Unclean? Disgusting?

And maybe that thought was the one that broke him. Papyrus could feel his eye sockets prickling, warmth rushing up to his skull. If he had been able to walk or teleport, he might have gone to the bathroom to hide, but now he was helpless to do anything but sit as tears welled up.

Sans whimpered, trying to stand and fumble for the tissue box on his desk without looking away. With a fistful of crumpled tissues, he wiped at Papyrus’s cheeks as the tears finally started streaming.

And the tissues came away blackened. Now that he had started, he couldn’t stop quietly sobbing, streams of tainted magic running out of him. All of the mess that Gaster had left inside his skull was coming out, all at once. It didn’t look so different than the black goo Sans oozed when he was sick; what had Gaster done to him that Sans was still producing it, years later?

“I’ve tried for so long to protect you from this, Papyrus,” Sans said in a choked whisper. “I thought I could keep you safe from him. But...”

And now _Sans_ was crying. “It was Gaster, wasn’t it? I can’t keep deluding myself and pretending it’s not him. I thought not talking about it would be enough, but maybe if I had warned you everything would be okay.” (How much did Sans remember, if he was talking like this? Had he known all along?) “I hoped that he was gone forever, that it was just a nightmare. But when those monsters started showing up again and bothering us... Back in the Underground, they didn’t hurt anyone, they just talked. I didn’t think it was a sign. And now he’s hurt you again.”

Again? “It was my fault, bro. I provoked—”

“ _No._ ” Sans grabbed his shoulder, but, just for a second, that hand felt bigger, gripping too tightly on his bruised clavicle. Sans immediately let go at his flinch, looking horrified. “Papyrus, don’t you ever blame yourself for what he did. If anyone’s at fault, it’s him for hurting you and me for not protecting you.”

He shushed Papyrus’s protests. “I failed you as a brother,” Sans said, his despair turning to anger. His free hand lit up in healing green, and he ran it over Papyrus’s skull, his arms, his torso. For Sans not to think his pelvis needed healing... Maybe his secret was safe. Maybe Gaster had never done that to Sans. At least only one of them was dirty. “But I’m not going to let this happen again, Papyrus. I promise, and you know how I feel about promises.”

It took a small mountain of tissues before (what felt like) gallons of tears and black fluid ran out, and Papyrus didn’t protest when Sans shifted him back down onto his mattress, pulling the blankets up around him. He really hadn’t done anything, but he felt exhausted. A nap wouldn’t be so out of place, right? Especially a rare Sans-mandated nap. Maybe if he slept enough, his pelvis wouldn’t hurt anymore.

It should have been hard to fall asleep, knowing that Gaster (his father, _they had a father_ ) was out there, but soon he was drifting off, lulled by the blue glow that grew to cover them both, Sans strengthening the ward around them, until he could almost believe they were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To sum it up: Gaster confronts Papyrus because he overheard Asgore discussing Papyrus ending his career as Judge (chapter 9), an unacceptable choice in his eyes. Gaster also views sexual servitude as one of Papyrus’s duties as Judge and is convinced that, if Papyrus had soul-bonded and had sex with them, he wouldn’t even consider leaving his position.
> 
> Gaster violates him in a variety of ways to check whether Papyrus had been ‘properly intimate’ with Toriel and Asgore and is enraged when he learns that Papyrus hasn’t met those standards. His actions leave Papyrus covered in the black goo that makes up Gaster’s body, with some of it left inside his mouth and eye socket. The whole time he berates Papyrus for 'depriving' the Dreemurrs. Papyrus finally remembers that Gaster is his father upon seeing him, which makes it more painful for him. 
> 
> There’s also some victim blaming, both from Gaster and Papyrus directing it at himself. 
> 
> If you want to skip all that, it starts at "Papyrus let out a garbled, wordless protest, as Gaster shifted close enough to snatch up his wrists, holding them above his head with what seemed like almost no effort." and ends at about the sentence “Underneath Gaster’s shouting, which was becoming more and more distorted, Papyrus could hear something outside of the room.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter has some more non-con, reactions to last chapter’s non-con, and some self-victim blaming.

The room is so dark, but his bones and their fur glow enough that he can see what’s happening to him, where hands are going. The clinging darkness doesn’t touch them, but it oozes down the walls, drips from the ceiling. The blankets on the bed are splattered with black stains.

“You’re so beautiful,” Asgore breathes against the side of his skull. He’s straddling one of Asgore’s thighs, spine to enormous fuzzy chest, and at least he doesn’t have to look at both of them. His sockets hurt, and looking at Toriel is hard enough. He’s not sure he wants to know what sort of expression the King is making for him.

Maybe his sockets hurt because she has a few fingers hooked inside of one, using it as a grip as she ruts her clit against his leaking dick. The bone feels frail, but she manages to come before his lacrimal bone has a chance to crack.

If she had kept it up, maybe he could have had a chance to come. But instead, Toriel squeezes his dick in her soft fist, tighter and tighter until it shatters. Until she can reshape his soft orange magic into the pussy immediately leaking down against Asgore’s bare leg. She strokes up the length of it briefly, her fur tickling around his clit, but it’s over far too soon. (He doesn’t want her to touch him. Reshaping it didn’t magically make the pain go away, and even the air stings.)

“You don’t need to bother with that. He’s ready now.”

The voice comes from Gaster. He’s sitting in a chair facing the bed, two pairs of hands folded neatly and laying on his crossed legs. Rather than that immense, shifting black mass, he’s just a normal skeleton, in the sort of armor that a Guard might wear. When Toriel looks back for confirmation, he gives her an adoring look. Papyrus tries his best to ignore Gaster, not that it would do any good.

The two of them shift him backwards, so that he’s sitting father back in Asgore’s lap, an obvious boner jutting against his coccyx. It’s impossible to just pretend that it’s a hug from behind and nothing more. There’s a pang in his rib cage when Toriel pulls his Soul free, sitting out of reach. She passes it from hand to hand, watching as Asgore adjusts him. He’s faintly rattling in anticipation by the time she raises it to her mouth and bites down hard on the swell of his Soul, just as Asgore lines himself up and finally presses in.

The feeling of it is too much, and his mind glitches the second it breeches him, as if that would spare him somehow. When he’s aware again, the static fading out, Asgore is already most of the way in. It feels like Asgore wreathed his dick in fire magic.

If he looks down, he can see the swell of it through his magic, stretching the orange energy until his cock reaches Papyrus’s lower ribs. It’s so big, so warm. Asgore rocks gently into him, pressing damp kisses against the back of his skull. How can it be so painful, when he’s being so careful and loving? And Asgore _does_ love him. They both do. But wisps of magic are misting off of him, the whole construct threatening to shred apart, and he hurts so much. It’s almost too big for his pelvic cavity, pressing against his bones.

Papyrus is light enough that Asgore can easily lift him as he picks up speed, thrusting with more energy. With each movement, Papyrus’s magic strains, pushed far enough to its limit that it looks white rather than orange, faded out. He wants to hold onto something, to clutch onto the fur on Asgore’s thighs, but he doesn’t have hands.

When he looks up, Toriel is toying with one of them, like it’s a prop from a human horror movie. The phalanges, metacarpals, and carpals have somehow managed to stick together, rather than scattering the moment his hands had been pulled off.

With a seductive grin, her eyes half-lidded, she pops his Soul into her mouth and frees both hands up to play with his discarded bones. He can’t help but wail, his whole being enveloped in damp warmth at the same time Asgore thrusts inside of him.

Somehow, he still has feeling in that detached hand. He can feel how soft her hands are against the bone as she fiddles with it, seeing how his fingers can bend. Arranging them, seemingly at random, the middle three pointed up, his thumb and pinkie folded inward. Or at least it’s random until she shifts his hand lower and lower, brushing it against the fur on her breasts, her stomach, down to her pelvis.

With a grunt, Asgore empties himself into Papyrus, his come scalding and visible through Papyrus’s magic. He doesn’t pull out, though, and his dick doesn’t soften. After a minute of panting against Papyrus’s back, stroking at his spine and the ends of his femurs, where the patellas and everything below has been removed and dropped to the floor, Asgore begins to move again. Come squelches out of Papyrus, but it doesn’t ease the stinging.

With a sigh, Toriel slips his dismembered fingers inside of herself.

*

It was late afternoon when he jerked awake, the lights off and the start of sunset barely visible through the closed curtains. His body ached, but he felt more well-rested than he had been in a while. Not just well-rested, but ridiculously turned on. He couldn’t help his hand slipping down to his crotch, his shorts practically soaked.

Was it wrong to be turned on, when the dream was replaying in his mind, sending warm pulses through his body? Was it fucked up to shimmy out of his shorts, his conjured pussy already starting to leak onto his sheets? If he didn’t take care of it, he’d be an aroused mess all night. It was only _practical_ to get off. His Soul was starting to glow as well, the brightest thing in the room.

Papyrus flopped back onto the mattress, letting himself get comfortable. When the feeling of his cold, shaking fingers against his hip made him wince, he briefly slipped them into his mouth. Mostly to get them warmed up; he felt so wet that he wouldn’t need them slicked up anyway.

It felt so right. In all his fumbling efforts to get off with his pussy, fingering had never worked well. He gave it a try every now and then, but usually it would hurt too much to be pleasant, and he’d go back to rubbing his clit or grinding against something. But this was easy. He spread his legs, knees up, and slid two fingers inside himself with no resistance, eased by how wet his body had become. His fluids were literally pooling on his sheets.

His body wasn’t fighting back against it. There wasn’t any burning, any feeling like someone was poking a knife inside him. Somehow he had cracked the code of fucking. Rubbing at his clit with his other hand, he pressed in deeper, his fingertips drifting in faint circles against his walls.

He had never managed to get a single finger so deep, but here he was, adding a third one. It made a slick noise as he pushed in and out with more vigor, waiting for the pain and not getting it. How much could he take before his body rebelled?

The thought made him moan, skull pressing back into the pillow. Skeletal fingers were pretty narrow, but it still felt like a whole new world had opened up for him. If he could handle four of his own fingers, what else? Toriel’s fingers? _Asgore’s dick_? (Would it be as big as it had been in the dream?) Maybe it wouldn’t be painful at all, not like the dream. Maybe he needed to try.

His spine arched, rising up off the mattress as he practically convulsed through his orgasm, come splattering out of him and onto the sheets below. Would it feel that good when he was with a Dreemurr? He fell back onto the bed, panting heavily, arm flung over his sockets. The fantasy trailed off; imagining them cuddling and cleaning him up was kind of depressing, now that it was over. They weren’t going to magically show up to comfort him. Hopefully he’d have the chance to visit one or both soon, but he didn’t know how Sans would react to him trying to leave the house. Or, even worse, shortcutting out and potentially leaving Sans to discover that he had disappeared.

  
(Would Asgore even want to see him? He still hadn’t texted or called yet. Did Papyrus need to take initiative, like a good Judge?)

After a few minutes of resting, he sat up. His pussy hadn’t dissipated, and he could have tried for another orgasm, but he didn’t have the energy left. He needed to clean up and see if Sans was home. But there was still a slow leak coming out of him. Had he really enjoyed himself that much?

Papyrus finally looked down between his legs and froze. Mixing with his orange come, there was a substantial puddle of black, viscous fluid leaking out of him and into his sheets.

Gaster’s fluids, still inside him. Somehow, though his junk had been dispelled for hours, it had stuck around anyway, in whatever weird dimensional pocket skeleton magic apparently went when it wasn’t used. Shouldn’t all of it have ended up splattered onto his femurs the moment his magic had vanished?

The worst part was that it felt good as it oozed out, warmed by the insides of his passage. He could have scooped it up and used it to lubricate a second round, not that far off of lube. The thought made him gag. What was the black goo anyway? Part of his father’s body? It was ridiculous, but once he wondered if Gaster could feel anything through it, he couldn’t brush off the paranoia. Could Gaster somehow sense that he had been jerking off after a wet dream that he had appeared in?

It sounded absurd, but his metric for absurd was kind of broken, these days. The fact that it was there at all meant anything could be possible.

Luckily Sans had left the tissue box beside his mattress, and he tore out a handful. He mopped up as much of it as he could off his pelvic bones and the outside of his magic, but jamming a bunch of tissues up his cooter wasn’t going to do the trick. How could he have slept with that mess inside him? Was he going to get an infection?

There wasn’t any point in sneaking around; if Sans was home, he’d hear the shower go on. But Papyrus still found himself tip-toeing into his bathroom, making sure to lock the door. Pulling up his shirt, he stood in front of the mirror, squinting at his still-summoned pussy. The translucent orange really was darker than it should have been, a stain that reached all the way inside him.

And he needed it out now.

Not bothering to take off his shirt, he climbed into the shower, turning it on warm. The bathrooms in their new house had come with detachable shower heads, a novelty that he had soon realized could be used for other purposes. And, horribly, he could feel a prickle of arousal as he picked it up, like just touching it was a trigger for shower jerking. Like he had conditioned himself.

(Maybe that would make things easier, his own lubrication carrying the infection out, but he couldn’t help feeling disgusting anyway.)

He considered sitting down, in case his shaking legs failed him, but maybe he needed gravity to help clean him out. Taking a wide stance, he held open his entrance with one hand, clutching the shower head in the other. He bit back a startled sound at the warm water rushing inside him. Would it work? Did he need to use hot water instead, to disinfect it? He would endure scalding water up his pussy if it meant he was clean.

But it seemed to be working already. Diluted trickles of black started to run down his femurs, and he sighed in relief. His body didn’t even protest being stretched open so the water could get farther in. Whatever he had done to unlock the secrets of manageable penetration, he hoped it’d stick around. As he kept at it, the color of his magic lightened up, until it was back to its bright orange.

Was that the last of it? He pressed in a finger, wiggling it around a little before he withdrew, staring at the slick left behind. It looked clear enough, but were there still traces left behind? Would his body cycle it out normally? Of course, that meant he’d have to have his pussy summoned enough that it had time to lubricate, which was an uncomfortable thought, but...

(Was there goo in his dick too? Would he have to jerk off to get it out?)

He turned the shower off, roughly toweling himself. Somehow, despite how disgusting that had been, he was still horny, his body expecting he was going to masturbate again with the shower head. And he couldn’t just dispel it, not if he wanted himself clean as fast as possible. Trying to think unarousing thoughts (bills, traffic jams, old man Gerson...), he redressed. With underwear for once, in case he leaked orange all over his pants.

Pants, not shorts this time. It felt better to have as much bone covered up as possible. He added a rarely-worn long sleeved shirt as well, which also covered the burn on his wrist. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Sans about that, not when he still didn’t know the cause. No need to make his brother worry more than he already was.

*

Sans must have heard the shower going off, but luckily he was giving Papyrus enough space that he was able to get cleaned up and dressed without interruption. His sheets were a problem, smeared with black and orange, but he bundled it up so that the stains were hidden, carrying into the laundry room.

Where Sans already was waiting. “Oh! You’re up, Papy. I was going to let you sleep for longer than that.” He was pulling clothes out of the laundry, and was that....

Sans shook out his orange hoodie, holding it up for him to inspect. He sagged with relief, glad that it hadn’t gone missing during those foggy hours.

“I guessed you left it on the washer for me to deal with, but for once your laziness was the correct choice! Of course I am well-versed in cleaning out black stains, after years of practice!” Sans handed it over, and he stared at the front, which had somehow been restored to its usual color, not even a stray speck of black that he could see. From what he could see, his shorts were in the laundry basket too, miraculously clean.

He must have been in too much of a stupor to put them through the wash himself; getting to the laundry room had been as far as he could manage. For the best, apparently; the stains probably would have set in, had he tried. Sighing in bliss, he pulled the still-warm hoodie over his head, feeling more normal with it on. The fabric felt like a hug.

“Do you need to wash your sheets too?” Sans asked, closing the dryer. “I can get those started, if you’d prefer to go sit down.”

“Uh, nah bro. I’ve got this.” He really didn’t want his brother washing his come-stained sheets for him. Luckily Sans seemed to realize and turned away with a blush, starting to fold clothes while resolutely staring the other way. He had plenty of experience getting out orange stains himself, but... “Bro, what did you use to clean up my clothes?”

“Oh!” Sans jumped a little. He turned around, resolutely not looking at Papyrus’s sheets as he reached to the shelves above the washer. “I make my own stain cleaner, the human kind wouldn’t work at all.” He handed Papyrus an unlabeled spray bottle; no wonder, if he had to clean out blackened sweat from his own clothes that often.

While he got everything in the wash, Sans was still waiting there at the doorway, the laundry basket balanced on his hip. “Don’t go disappearing on me now, Papy. I want to get dinner started and we can have a talk, alright?”

He hated to admit it, but Sans had kind of trapped him; shortcuts wouldn’t go far when he was barefoot and, honestly, pretty hungry. And it was novel for Sans to _want_ to talk about their situation instead of endlessly dodging. Papyrus had to take the opportunity.

Soon Sans had started throwing together a haphazard casserole while Papyrus sat at the kitchen table, watching. Now that he had the opportunity to ask, he couldn’t manage to pick a question. _How long have you remembered? Was he that cruel when we were kids? What happens now?_ Where was he supposed to start? Sans seemed to be waiting on him, from the tenseness in his spine, but Papyrus couldn’t speak up.

Luckily Sans took pity on him. He turned around once he had gotten the pan into the oven, sitting down across from Papyrus and taking his hands. “Papy, I know this might seem sudden, but I want you to be honest with me. I would relocate us in a second, if that was what it took to keep you safe from Gaster. We could leave Ebott City and go somewhere else, if we had to. What do you think?”

“What? Bro, we can’t. We’ve got jobs and your school, and what about our friends? We can’t just _leave_.” They had been so excited about this house, this life. Abandoning it just like that?

Papyrus wasn’t even sure he _could_ leave. How far would his rune let him get from Asgore and Toriel? How many miles could he get between them before the magic realized he was trying to escape?

“I’d give all of it up if you were safe!” Sans’s grip on his hands tightened until it was almost painful. “It would be hard, I know, but I’d do it in an instant, if you wanted that. If we stay, he could hurt you again! With those monsters walking around, he has to know where we live! Where did it happen, how close did he get when he—” Sans swallowed heavily. “When he did that to you.”

(The ambiguity of that freaked him out. Was Sans saying that because he still didn’t know what had happened, or because he wanted to give Papyrus what little privacy he could?

Maybe it was obvious to his brother. What sort of freak jerked off hours after someone had attacked them? Sans had probably figured out how gross he was the minute he walked into the laundry room. Maybe Sans thought he wanted it, and he was trying to protect Papyrus from himself.)

“Sans, I...” It made sense that Sans was assuming that Gaster had gotten up here, just like the others. But to keep him from overturning their lives, he would have to fess up, wouldn’t he? Monsters were finally starting to find their place on the Surface, but change had been slow. Ebott City was the safest place for a monster, and he doubted that anywhere Sans took them would be so welcoming.

“Gaster, he’s.... He’s not on the Surface, bro. He’s still back in the Underground, and I don’t think he can leave. If we stay up here, maybe we’ll be safe?” Or at least that would help him sleep at night. If Gaster could come up, wouldn’t he have done it already?

Sans stared at him in confusion. “Papyrus, why in the world were you in the Underground?”

What secrets could he still manage to keep while explaining himself? He wasn’t about to show Sans his fucked-up rune, or tell him about Temmie’s demands, or anything like that, but...

“Sans, this is complicated, but... See, when I was younger, the Queen gave me this job. I’m basically—”

“A Judge?” Sans didn’t look confused or curious. How did he already know? When Papyrus stared at him, he continued on. “I thought that when he was gone, you wouldn’t have to do that. I suppose that was just wishful thinking.” He was starting to look hurt. “You’ve done this for _years_ and you never told me?”

“Sans, I—”

“All this time you’ve been hiding that? You wouldn’t trust your only brother with something so important?”

“And _you’ve_ been hiding shit about Gaster. Maybe it was fucked up, but secrets run in the family, right? And I didn’t want you to worry about it.” He hated how sharp his voice sounded, trying to hurt Sans, trying to make him feel just as guilty. Would anything really have changed, had Sans known?

“Well, I’m plenty worried now! All those times when you got home late or skipped school, I hoped it was because you had made a friend. Maybe it was wrong to hope for that, but at least you would have been happy. I guess I just...made myself ignore it when every time you came back, you looked exhausted and upset, not happy...”

He buried his skull in his hands, and they were both silent for what felt like a whole minute. Carefully, in case it wasn’t wanted, Papyrus reached out, fingers brushing against his brother’s gloved hands. It took nearly another minute before Sans curled his fingers around Papyrus’s, rubbing at his face with the other.

“I’m sorry, Sans. Guess I fucked up on that one, big time. What do you want to know about it?” Maybe a lot of that secrecy had been for nothing, and he had just made things harder on both of them. But if he told Sans some of it now, it might make up for it.

His voice was still a little wet when he finally spoke, but Sans sounded more resigned than angry. “I knew a little bit. He talked about you being the Judge eventually, but not to me. Gaster didn’t bother teaching me what that meant, so all I know is little things I overheard. What do you do, as the Judge?”

At least he could edit things to down to be more Sans-friendly. He felt like shit for technically lying, but it wasn’t like that was remotely new. “Well, you know the golden hall in New Home? Back when the Barrier was still up, if there were criminals, I’d go there to help the Queen choose their punishment. I can basically tell whether people have hurt someone or not, so I could tell if anyone needed a stronger sentence.”

“So you were going back Underground to judge someone? I don’t understand. Why do you need to take someone all the way down there? Isn’t the Surface good enough?”

“Nah, it’s not like that. Now that we’re on the Surface, humans have their own system for that, and I don’t have to do anything. Without anyone to Judge, I’m kind of a generic servant of the Crown. I...” Did he really want to admit that Temmie was a Dreemurr? And that he had to serve Dreemurrs whether he wanted to or not? He had the feeling the latter would get Sans’s big brother instincts riled up. He didn’t want Sans to try to keep him away from Toriel and Asgore, now that he was drawn to them more than ever. “I kept going down into the Underground to check up on the people still there, to see if they were okay.”

“So that’s why you were late all those times and I was worried sick looking for you? You were back down there?”

“Yeah. I should’ve told you, but I thought you’d stop me. And I had to do things like bringing up the Floweys.” Sans loved the Floweys, hopefully that would appeal to him. He couldn’t complain about Papyrus helping people, right?

“But when you went down this time, Gaster caught you,” Sans finished softly. “Maybe he really is contained to the Underground and can’t come up? It would make sense after what happened.” Papyrus wanted to ask what Sans meant by that, but he didn’t want to ruin this streak of honesty by pushing too hard.

“Still!” Sans slapped the tabletop, and Papyrus startled. Why was he being so jumpy? It was only his brother. “I don’t want you back in the Underground! Tell the Queen to send someone else, someone he won’t bother. He’s not going to hurt anyone else, just us.”

Something about that felt wrong. “Sans. Did....did Dad hurt you too?”

Sans stood so fast that his chair toppled over. “ _Papyrus_. Don’t ever, ever call Gaster our father, and not definitely not Dad. That only makes it worse!” His hand latched onto Papyrus’s hoodie, pulling him closer, and Papyrus had a brief thought that his brother would slap him, would shake him until his bones came apart, would toss him around with magic. “He has never been our dad. Don’t torture yourself thinking of him like that.”

Sans had never hit him in his life, but maybe his body was remembering something his mind was still blocking out. And if it had happened to him... “Sans. _What did he do to you?_ ” Was it just physical blows, or had it been something else? If Sans hadn’t been meant for Judgment, had he been spared the sexual abuse? (Had it happened to Papyrus before?)

“You don’t remember?” All the fight went out of his voice, getting smaller and smaller. “I thought you...I thought it was all coming back, and you knew. That maybe contact with Gaster was enough to unlock all the things you forgot. But if you don’t have those memories... It would only hurt you to try and get them back.” He turned his back to take the casserole out, and then to gather plates, fill cups, cut servings. Anything not to look at Papyrus.

“Bro, please. You won’t tell me anything?” Sans was slipping away from him, shutting down again. He got up, crossing the kitchen to stand beside Sans, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. Why would Gaster have bothered to hurt Sans, when only Papyrus was meant to be the Judge?

“It’s for your own good not to know, Papy. Just trust me on that. He hurt you now, today, and that’s what matters. Maybe it’s wrong for us to be keeping anything from each other right now...” (Papyrus winced, thinking about everything he hadn’t explained.) “But this is bad enough without the rest of it. We can talk more about when you’re feeling better.”

*

It was hard to eat dinner after all of that. He should have tried to get more of it down, so that his health stabilized and Sans stopped giving him concerned looks, but he just couldn’t manage. Once Sans had given him another bracelet ward, Sans let him head back to his bedroom. It was double-braided, and he could tell it was stronger than the first. Still, probably completely useless against Gaster.

Too antsy to go right to sleep, he sloppily replaced his freshly cleaned sheets. He could’ve gone downstairs, where he could faintly hear the TV on. Sans was still down there, and they could’ve sat on the couch, shared a blanket, watched ridiculous human shows. But what if Sans wanted to keep talking? Or, even worse, what if they sat in uncomfortable silence?

Despite his restlessness, nothing appealed: not the books scattered around his room, a lot of them half-read and abandoned; not his computer, where Undyne had probably left a dozen messages, getting more and more worried that his silence meant that he hated her; not any of the human puzzles Sans had bought for him, ones he had all solved before. With the lights from the city, he couldn’t stargaze either. No chance for a walk, not if he might end up running into a gray monster who would know what Gaster did to him.

There was just sleep, and even that was risky. Would he have another dream where his father sat back and watched him being fucked and mutilated? (And it was worse that he kind of wanted it, that it felt right.) Just crawling underneath the blankets felt dangerous. The exhaustion in his bones didn’t really care whether he wanted to dream or not, and he slumped down onto the mattress.

Papyrus was just about to give up, to flick the lights off with a bit of magic, when his phone buzzed. A single text from Toriel.

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked, and Chara and I have both been clamoring to see you as of late! Would you be available this weekend?”

That was all he needed. Sans wouldn’t object to him leaving to see the Queen, of course not. She could do no wrong in his eyes. She was giving him a chance to get back on track as the Judge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who doesn’t know, just in case, human vags should not be cleaned like that, it’s not healthy.
> 
>  
> 
> note I forgot: also wanted to let people know I'm doing NaNoWriMo, so I don't think I'm going to post much in November. Hoping to work a lot on various fics, including finishing this one.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning could not have been more awkward. He was luckily free from another wet dream, or at least one that he could remember, but that wasn’t much comfort. Papyrus was antsy, _needing_ to see Toriel, and Sans seemed to pick up on his rare restlessness. How he kept glancing at his phone, checking again and again to see if it was still too early to go to her.

Sans couldn’t just pretend like everything was normal anymore. His preferred coping strategy had been torn away, and what was either of them supposed to do about it?

At least he was fussing over Papyrus without directly bringing up what happened. Almost immediately, the minute Papyrus had come downstairs, Sans had started up on it: are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? (That was a new one, too bad Sans had busted it out _now_ and not on some day when he wanted to be lazy.) It’s a bit chilly out, are you going to be warm enough? (No doubt, considering he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, fairly bundled up for a fall morning. Stranger still that Sans didn’t scold him for not wearing something clean.) Don’t you want more breakfast than that?

The last one actually made sense. Sans was going all out, pancakes, a mountain of scrambled eggs, apples cut into little shapes like Sans had done when they were kids, though there had been a lot more nicked fingers and mangled apples back then. Maybe Papyrus looked frail and Sans thought he needed healing magic? His appetite was making an unexpected appearance, but...

“Bro, um. I’m gonna be going to Toriel’s in a bit, so is this all necessary? She’s probably gonna feed me too.”

Sans paused, a bit of pancake halfway to his mouth. It didn’t escape Papyrus that _he_ wasn’t eating much, a bite every few minutes for appearance’s sake. “So early? Is it that important? Judge business?”

_Yes._ “Nah, it’s just a social call. Gonna see Chara, hang out, do whatever.” _And serve the Queen_. His rune pulsed in response, almost seeming pleased, as if magic could do that. “And it’s not that early, you know. Not exactly setting any records for earliest wake-up.”

“I suppose. However...” Sans gave him his biggest, starriest pleading look. “I know usually I tell you it’s irresponsible and uncouth to do, but could you take a shortcut to and from Toriel’s home? It’s not much of a walk, but I’d still feel better knowing you did that. Just in case one of those monsters is roaming the streets.”

“Sure thing, bro.” Knowing about the strength of his ward, he wasn’t that scared of those monsters much anymore, not when there was a bigger threat. Maybe they would report back on his movements to Gaster, but if he was going to Toriel’s, he could hardly be punished for that. Still, a few shortcuts wouldn’t be that big of a deal, not if it made Sans happy.

At that, Sans started to eat a little more, beaming. “Of course, I know you’ll be perfectly safe from them within the Queen’s home! As long as you’re careful on your journey, we won’t need to worry at all. Tell Chara I said hello, and that they and I deeply need to make a cool friends hangout of our own.”

Easy as that. Sans apparently was going to spend the day studying (video-chatting his classmates now that he was skittish about leaving the house), so Papyrus was free to head to Toriel’s, obediently shortcutting onto her doorstep.

As he knocked, he glanced up and down the street, but no lurking gray monsters hiding behind the hedges or anything. Unless they showed up to stare through the windows when he was inside, he had the feeling he’d be okay.

“Come in, Papyrus!” Toriel’s voice was distant, but hey, an order already. He was doing great at this. The door was unlocked, and he stepped in. No sign of Chara, which usually would have gotten him nervous. It was weird to be relieved instead.

Toriel soon emerged from the kitchen, untying the apron she was wearing. Looking past her, he could see that there was a freshly-made pie sitting on the counter. “Chara is out on a walk around the park with Undyne and Alphys, but I hope you’ll be staying long enough to see them as well. However, we have some free time to ourselves now.” She winked, quirking a finger to get him to come over.

He was getting worked up already. When they were in the kitchen, they wouldn’t be visible from the front door, and if Chara came in, they’d be able to hear them before the kid saw anything inappropriate. It wasn’t as good as a bedroom, but still private. Clearly Toriel had the same idea from the way she was looking at him.

She was on him almost immediately, crushing him against her front with those soft arms. Rather than trying to figure out how to make her snout and his teeth work together in a kiss, she went for the side of his neck instead, mouthing and nibbling at his vertebrae. Her tongue rasped against his spine, thoroughly mapping it out, and he was suddenly hit with the disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to get hickeys, not unless she left big visible bite marks.

Papyrus had gotten what he wanted, and now he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t exactly kiss back, or at least it probably wouldn’t be that great for her. Could he bite her back? Was it too soon for biting on his end?

It was hard to think, to figure out where his hands were supposed to go, let alone what he was supposed to do with them. When they were pressed so close together, he was pretty sure Toriel could feel his boner. More than that, she was....kind of grinding against him. Apparently annoyed with shoving his clothes out of the way so her tongue could reach more of his vertebrae, Toriel reached down and yanked up the hem of his hoodie, pulling it off in one smooth motion and tossing it across a kitchen chair a few feet away.

And that hurt like hell. His wrist had been a low-level sting all morning, but that movement and friction was all it took to make his arm start screaming at him again. It took a second before he was gathered enough to keep going, but she noticed the flinch and the way his eyelights flickered out.

Toriel drew back for a second, probably to get a better look at him, but it felt like she was _leavin_ g. Papyrus reached out with both hands, intending to bring her back, to keep going, and that’s where he had fucked up. He had been so distracted by her, how she smelled (pie, shampoo—the kind that Asgore smelled like, probably made specifically for furred monsters), that he didn’t notice that the sleeve of his shirt was pushed up, just enough that a section of his wrist was uncovered. A tiny, charred hint of it right there for Toriel to see.

And of course, he wasn’t so lucky that she didn’t notice. Reaching out, she pulled his sleeve up further, gently so that it didn’t catch against his bone. And...wow, that kind of looked worse than it had last night, didn’t it? Maybe he should have put something on it, a bandage or ointment.

“What have you done to yourself, my dear?” Toriel breathed, holding his arm further down and brushing the paw pads of her opposite hand across the burn. Even that extremely faint contact felt like she was digging her fingers in. He wasn’t about to complain, though, hoping that it didn’t show on his face; she was touching him, just like he wanted.

( _“Though if either Toriel or Asgore wants you to be in pain, well, then who are you to deny them?”_ )

But, she had asked a question. “I don’t know how I got it. It just appeared the other day. It’s not a big deal, though, don’t worry about it.”

“Papyrus, _stop._ ” He froze, his Soul starting to hurt too, from how much it was convulsing in his rib cage. What had he done wrong? Why was she moving away, until their only contact was through her hand on his burned wrist? “I’m not comfortable being intimate with you while you’re injured in this manner. Please calm down.”

Well, there went his aching boner, evaporating into nothing. His Soul, which had been getting brighter and wetter, abruptly desummoned itself as well, though it left behind plenty of ooze on the inside of his shirt. Going from 100 to 0 in a few seconds turned out to be really uncomfortable, and his bones stung with sparks of residue magic. “What’d I do wrong?” He tried to grin wider in a ‘I’m not in any pain at all, please ravage me’ sort of way.

“Wh—Papyrus, this isn’t a punishment.” She was looking more and more horrified. “I just don’t think _now_ is the time for a clandestine fondling. This looks so painful...” She nudged his sleeve up further, and he could feel her Check his status.

“Papyrus, forgive me if this is a wild assumption, but considering the placement and severity of this burn, I believe it may be the result of a disobeyed order, either from myself or Asgore. I’m not angry with you because of it, merely concerned to think this may be my fault.” She took his opposite hand and began to lead him out of the kitchen. “Please, I do think we need to deal with this.”

Toriel took him to the bathroom—not the smaller one downstairs that Chara used, cluttered with bath toys and bubble bath, but the upstairs one connected to her own bedroom. She had him sit down on the rim of the tub, while she worked his shirt sleeve up, leaving his arm bare to the elbow. He couldn’t help feeling self-conscious that she hadn’t asked him to take his shirt off completely. It seemed to look a lot worse in the lighting of the bathroom.

“Luckily, I am well-versed in healing burns,” Toriel said sadly, her fingers lighting up in green. “And more fortunate that I saw it early on. Myself and Asgore are the only monsters capable of healing a burn caused in this manner.” It worked slowly, the burn fading to dark gray and then off-white until it was the normal shade of bone. The pain was disappearing too, and soon both were completely gone, not a trace left on his arm.

She traced his rune with a single finger, and it didn’t ache at all. And, not surprising at all, he was getting turned on again. How was he supposed to help it, with her touching and using magic on him? Maybe now that was over, they could get back to business. It wasn’t as bright as it was before, but faint light was starting to seep through his shirt again, and he didn’t need to look down to know that a little orange glow was visible through his shorts.

And now that she wasn’t busy healing him, she could notice it. Her face fell. “Ah, Papyrus... I don’t believe now is the right time for us to be intimate. Your arm may appear fully healed, but let me get you something to eat, so we can be sure we’ve fixed any residual damage to your bones...” She rushed out of the room, closing the door behind her. His arousal winked out _again,_ and it didn’t feel any better the second time around.

What the fuck. She had been so eager to flirt and touch him, but now when he actually tried to join in, she said no? Of course, he wasn’t about to argue with her decision, but it still hurt. What had he done wrong? Maybe he should have kept his arm bandaged up so she couldn’t see it. What was the problem, now that his arm was healed?

He could faintly hear her talking downstairs, and the higher sound of Chara’s voice in response; they must have been too distracted by the healing to hear the door opening. Something about how it was too early in the day for them to have pie, that she was just taking out a slice for Papyrus. So she was actually getting him something to eat, not just stalling.

Soon she returned, standing in the doorway a plate and fork in hand, a sizable chunk of cherry pie gently steaming there. “How about you eat in here? It’s a bit unsanitary to eat in a bathroom, though I assure you I keep it clean.” At her gesturing, he sat on her bedspread. Considering that he had just had breakfast, it seemed like a lot, but he took the plate anyway.

She waited until he had taken a bite before speaking. “Papyrus, I do want to stress the unique nature of that burn. For instance, a burn caused by regular fire, either non-magical or inflicted by someone else’s fire magic, could be healed by anyone’s efforts. However, this severity, localized on your rune, typically manifests as a form of punishment that only Royal hands could forgive. And...”

She seemed to struggle with her words, as he managed more pie. It was delicious, though he wasn’t hungry. “I must confess that I have seen this sort of injury before, but not in a...conventional sense. And I’m worried that you may have intentionally caused this burn, which is upsetting to me, considering your state of arousal earlier.”

“What? No, I didn’t even notice when I got it. It just...appeared.” And being turned on had nothing to do with the burn. Shouldn’t she have been happy he was responding to her?

“If there’s an order either Asgore or I accidentally gave you, which you feel like you can’t follow, please. We want to know so that we can rescind it, for your safety. I don’t feel comfortable with you intentionally harming yourself.”

“But I didn’t do this on purpose, and if there was an order I messed up on, I don’t know what it was.” Aside from tiny orders, like ‘eat this’ or ‘look after Chara,’ they didn’t order him around much these days. “That burn just showed up, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, can you think of what you had been doing at around that time? I’m sorry if this sounds like I’m hounding you, but it’s very worrying. If we don’t take care of this, it might happen again. So please, help me understand how this occurred.”

It was technically possible that the burn had nothing to do with his...encounter with Gaster, but really, he couldn’t convince himself of that. There wasn’t any other obvious cause. “Basically, I was down in the Underground. Messing around, wandering, and...I met Gaster, and after that, I noticed that my arm was fucked up.” Easy, simple explanation without any goop at all.

“Captain Gaster?” She swayed on her feet, looking about to topple over, but she reached the desk chair in time. “Papyrus, that can’t be true. I sensed his death through the Rune that he carried on him, the same one you now have. He did not just die—he was _erased_ from the world. In the span of an hour, Asgore and I were the only ones who could still remember him, likely because of his bond to us. I don’t understand how you could even remember him, let alone meeting him.”

“His...his rune? What—back up, I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m sorry that you had to learn about it this way, it must be an immense shock. Captain Gaster was the previous Judge, and you were his replacement after his...death? Disappearance? Of course he had a rune, the same as yours. Once, I had been able to sense him the same as I can with you.”

No wonder Gaster had such strong opinions on what it meant to be a Judge. “I mean, I guess it should’ve been obvious that my dad was a Judge too, but the ‘Captain’ thing kept throwing me off—”

“Captain Gaster was your _father_?” She fumbled her words. “I suppose in retrospect it seems a bit foolish to be surprised. My memory of his appearance is faded, but he may have been a skeleton; bones have always felt familiar to me. I just glossed over why you were the next candidate at the time, but... Are you sure he’s alive? I don’t see how that’s possible.”

(Had she been so worried about getting a new Judge that she hadn’t given any thought to kid Papyrus’s family situation? Shouldn’t she have noticed, as someone who had been a mother once?)

“Yeah, well. He’s still down there, or at least part of him is. Saw him myself.” A memory was starting to poke at the back of his head: that lunch date with Toriel and Asgore, where they had started talking in static. Had that been Gaster’s name that he hadn’t been able to comprehend? “The order was probably ‘don’t go looking for the other Judge,’ which I technically disobeyed? Guess that clears a bunch of stuff up.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but Toriel was hardened enough by centuries of rule that she didn’t let them fall, hand pressed against her snout. “I can’t believe he survived somehow. Did he look well? Perhaps it was the magic released from the Barrier breaking that somehow revived him, because he would have sought me out, had he returned earlier...”

She was so shocked by the idea of Gaster being alive that she didn’t ask how he had found Gaster. Probably that was for the best? He wasn’t sure if he could say that out loud to the Queen, of all people. He shrugged off her questions: yeah, he looked fine. (Maybe Gaster had always looked like a pile of goo, who could say?) No, he hadn’t said when he had showed up. _No,_ he hadn’t said anything about coming to the Surface, and he hoped he didn’t look as horrified as he felt, saying that. If Gaster had been able to, he would’ve done it already, but...

She wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand and gave a faint sigh. “Well, this has all been shocking news, but don’t let me get distracted from our current issue. Papyrus, although it worries me to think that the Surface is not enough for you, that you need to return to our former cage, it’s understandable that you might want to learn more about your predecessor. So, consider that order revoked.” Not that he wanted to ever run into Gaster again, but at least if it happened, he wouldn’t be burned horribly.

“I believe there’s more to this conversation, but let’s save that for when you’re feeling a bit better, hm? Keep an eye on that wrist for any cracks or weakness, and let me know if any complications occur. We can make plans once we know you’ve fully recovered.” Maybe it was just her concern over his health that kept her from talking more about Gaster, but... Plans?

He finished the rest of the pie quickly, though it was making him nauseated. No matter how good it tasted, it was still too close to Sans’s immense breakfast for him to want it. But Toriel wasn’t saying anything, watching him eat with a pinched look on her face, and he wanted her to lay off. What did he have to do to get her flirty and touchy again?

When he finished, she stood, but it was only to take the plate from him. Papyrus trailed her downstairs, watching her scrub the plate immaculately, probably for a chance to not have to look at him. He guessed the moment was over.

Chara was sitting on the couch, out of their jacket and boots but still pink-cheeked from walking out in the fall air. Probably they could tell something was going on, between their Mom’s restless flitting around in the kitchen and Papyrus slumping on the couch beside them, unable to think of a pun or even a subject to make a pun about. Putting down their phone, they glanced at Papyrus, squinted, and stood up. They headed over to a cabinet, retrieved a box, and put it down in front of Papyrus on the coffee table.

It was a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle with a bright picture of weird, rubbery-looking dolphins. Staring at him, Chara popped off the lid and dumped the pieces out in front of him. Even though his limbs felt heavy and uncooperative, he heaved himself up and started picking out the edge pieces. Chara sat back down and started to separate out the gray dolphin pieces back into the box lid.

It would have been a very cute and soothing distraction, if he wasn’t hyperaware of Toriel standing in the doorway in his peripheral, texting and occasionally looking up at him. This wasn't how he had hoped things would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my first NaNoWriMo chapters, which has been frustrating me for a while. The end is in sight!


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn’t really surprising that Asgore texted him just a few hours after he left Toriel, wanting a meeting of his own. Papyrus couldn’t pretend that everything was great and the King just wanted to give him some nice, uncomplicated attention, maybe a little jealous of the Queen. Nope, that would be too easy. Even in those brief texts, Asgore’s Dadly Concern had been radiating out of every word, enough that he could be certain Toriel had told him everything.

He’d really fucked things up, hadn’t he? If he had just hidden that burn properly, none of this would be happening. How was he supposed to fix things and convince them that everything was alright and he needed different attention than the kind they were showering on him now? Or that he needed to be giving _them_ attention instead? And they knew about Gaster, which was a conversational minefield.

Still. A meeting was a meeting, and he had no intention of turning Asgore down. He had requested for them to meet the day after, which wasn’t much time to recover after Toriel’s, really. He had tried to keep up a decent facade to avoid more of Sans’s fussing, but he had been all spacey and uninterested in moving for the rest of the day, just barely remembering to go to work and then stumbling around in a daze once he got there.

If he kept coming back from meetings with Dreemurrs all fucked up, Sans was eventually going to make the connection that it was a Judge thing and might try to stop Papyrus altogether. Maybe it was going against their new policy of (semi) honesty, but he needed to be careful. So he told Sans he was going out again, after promising to shortcut there, and didn’t tell him who he’d be meeting with.

It was weird, being nervous about Asgore of all people, his shoulders going tense as he lingered in the parking lot, hoping Asgore hadn’t seen him hiding behind someone’s truck and trying to smoke away his nerves. Whatever his goal was for this talk, it was probably going to be uncomfortable at best for Papyrus, if not a complete disaster. Why did this have to be the first real conversation they’d had in ages?

But there was only so long he could stall. He’d only gone into this shop once or twice, since caffeine was the enemy of sleep, and he could just as easily get pastries from Muffet’s. (Though it had been a while since he’d bothered...) It seemed like an okay place, not that he had much for comparison. Asgore was already set up in the corner, having shifted one of the round tables to make room for his bulk. He waved enthusiastically as Papyrus walked in, as if he didn’t draw the eye immediately, as one of the few customers and by far the biggest.

“Good morning, Papyrus! Would you like to order something before you sit down? Although I felt like having a tea today,” (when didn’t he feel like tea?), “...apparently the nice cashier recommended their pumpkin spice latte. It’s seasonal, isn’t that interesting?”

“Sounds nice, yeah,” Papyrus said, making his way over to the display case. Having something to occupy his hands and mouth with (though boy did that send his mind down a perverse trail) would probably make things a lot easier. He was already feeling sick, so he wasn’t sure how much of it he could finish, but he ordered a decaf latte and a scone, both pumpkin-flavored.

The drink was made too quickly for his liking, and soon he was carrying them back to Asgore, kind of feeling like he was trudging to an execution. Instead of sitting beside Asgore, where his imagination could supply him with daydreams of leaning against the King’s furry arm, he sat across the table from him. From how far out it had been moved to give Asgore breathing room, that put a safe amount of space between them.

(It was a half-filled, brightly lit coffee shop anyway. There wouldn’t have been any discreet way for Papyrus to, say, give Asgore a handie under the table. He clenched his hands around the cardboard coffee cup, trying to focus on the heat.)

And of course Asgore had to torture him with small talk before he got to the obvious problem. “How have you been, Papyrus? Your health? Your brother?”

“Eh, I’ve been.... the usual?” From the look Asgore gave him over the rim of his mug, that answer didn’t fly. “And Sans is great.” Aside from the paranoia, and the fussing, and how strained he looked these days. “How’s the flowers?”

He had the feeling that Asgore was only humoring him as he detailed the growth of various flowers and bushes, explaining more briefly than he might have on any other day. Usually that could get a good ten, fifteen minutes out of him, but it seemed like Papyrus had only taken a few sips and a single tiny bite of scone, before Asgore was wrapping it up. “However, as much as I appreciate your interest in my begonias, that is not what I invited you here to speak of. I’m sorry, but I intended for this to be more than a mere social call.”

There it goes. “Yeah?” Papyrus forced out, torn between drinking so he didn’t have to talk or putting the cup down so he wouldn’t choke if Asgore said something unexpected. Not that he could taste it through the nausea starting to build.

“I spoke with Toriel, and she told me what occurred when you visited her yesterday.” _Everything_ that happened? Hopefully she had been a little discreet, rather than taunting Asgore with how she had made out with their toy and he hadn’t. How much did Asgore know about Gaster? “May I see your wrist, Papyrus?”

He pulled up his sleeve and stretched his arm out towards Asgore, palm up. “It’s fine, really. She healed it perfectly, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Asgore gently touched the bone, running his paw pads along the area. Maybe he was checking Toriel’s heal job? The warmth of his touch sent quivers through Papyrus, and he hoped he wasn’t already showing orange.

“Papyrus, just because it’s healed doesn’t mean that it’s not a problem. This, combined with what Toriel has told me about Captain Gaster, has worried me.”

“It’s _not_ a problem, really. She took off the order that hurt me, so that’s the end of it, right? No point in making a big deal out of this.” When was Asgore going to let go of him? Did Papyrus really want him to?

“Not a big deal? Papyrus, there are several _big deals_ here, and it concerns me that you’re brushing them off. Our actions hurt you, isn’t that a big deal? Your father is alive, and you just flinched at me saying that. Forgive me for making assumptions, but I feel like that might be the biggest deal of all.”

Asgore had a loose grip on Papyrus’s wrist, so it wasn’t hard to pull away from his touch. It was ridiculous to be suspicious of Asgore, of all people, but he didn’t want the King to still be holding onto him in case Papyrus said something that upset him. Not when he’d _just_ gotten that arm healed. “He’s been gone for a long time, you know? And Toriel said that—that when he died, it erased him. So it’s not like I’ve been missing him for years, I’ve only started remembering it now.”

“But you met him, somehow, and it’s not with the excitement of a reunited father and son. You have not rushed to us intending to retrieve him from the Underground as soon as possible, as you had with the Floweys. If not for Toriel seeing your burn, you may have kept it a secret. Why is that?” He seemed to realize how strong he was coming on and leaned back, bringing his voice back to something more gentle. “From your expression, I don’t believe you’ve even returned to him since that first meeting. Am I wrong?”

By now, Papyrus was shredding the scone into tinier and tinier pieces, not intent on eating it. “Asgore...What do you remember about Gaster?” Had they both cared about him, like they did now with Papyrus? He didn’t want to stumble into bad-mouthing someone they probably grieved and missed.

“Although my memory of him is better than the rest of monsterkind, it is regrettably faint. A fragmented day here, a few words there. And I hope you can forgive an old man for his already spotty memory...” He took a long sip of tea, his expression getting more and more contemplative.“Captain Gaster was a deeply dedicated man. To be both a Royal Guard and the Judge, well, that spoke volumes of his loyalty to the crown. He was a true friend to myself and Toriel and, I believe, a lover.”

He needed to tread lightly. A _lover_? He couldn’t just insult Gaster to their faces. ‘Oh yeah, by the way. The guy you’re reminiscing about definitely fondled me the other day, no biggie.’

“However, in my few memories of him, he never spoke of having children. He never brought either yourself or your brother to the castle, as some of the Guards would with their children, so they could play in the garden. I would never have guessed that you and he were related. It concerns me that you and your brother may have been abandoned without proper adult care in the wake of his assumed passing.”

He shrugged. “Eh, I mean, I was 12, so not that young. Plus Sans was a teenager by then, and I got a good salary for being Judge, so we didn’t have that bad a time. We didn’t really need adult care.” Especially not whatever Gaster’s version of adult care had been.

“12 and...15? 16? Not to insult your capabilities, but the two of you definitely did need some sort of care and supervision. Our failed memories were not enough of an excuse to leave you alone, and I’m sorry for that.”

He could have argued that it wasn’t Asgore’s fault, since he had disappeared into the Ruins before Papyrus had taken the position, but he wasn’t comfortable with dragging Toriel in front of her ex. Things were complicated enough without playing them against each other. “It’s not that a big of a deal, really.”

“There is one other thing,” Asgore said, because of course there was. “Whether or not you did purposefully inflict that burn, I feel that it says a lot about your status as Judge—”

“First off, tell me one thing. Seriously, what’s with you and Toriel claiming that I did this on purpose? Why would I ever do that?” He felt kind of like an asshole for interrupting, even if it was an important question, and he pinched at his ulna under the table.

Now it was Asgore’s time to look awkward, fiddling with his tea mug, claws clacking against the porcelain. (Just like Asgore to bring his own cup to a coffee shop.) “Although my understanding of this is deeply foggy, and we may be completely incorrect, Toriel and I believe that Captain Gaster may have....in his intimacies with us...intentionally disobeyed small orders as a form of sexual play. I just didn’t think you’d be comfortable hearing us speculate about our relationship with your father.”

“Yeah, I’m good not knowing about that.” He didn’t want to think about the Dreemurrs doing that with Gaster, not just because it was gross, but because it only made him think about the Dreemurrs doing it with _him_. Not that he thought the burns were hot in more ways than the literal sense but to have them fussing over the injuries they had given him... He squeezed his legs together and hoped it wasn’t too noticeable.

It was probably a good thing that Asgore had chosen this coffee shop for their meeting rather than his house, so Papyrus didn’t have the privacy to get close. Plus, the shop had single-toilet bathrooms, so there was no chance for a bathroom quickie, even if they managed to be subtle about it. Not that he could convince Asgore to do it.

“Yes, of course. My point was that, as we have discussed in the past, I feel that we should work towards removing your Judge status. That burn solidified my belief that this is no longer a good position for you, and your talk with Toriel seems to have convinced her as well.” Asgore reached back for Papyrus’s hand, which was now limp on the table, given up on destroying his pastry. “This is not a commentary on how we feel about you. Please understand that we want this because we care about you, not because we believe you’ve been an incompetent Judge. I think we may have found a third option, due to recent events.”

“What’s that.” He couldn’t manage to put any emotion into his voice. He was so tired, and they were throwing him away.

“Well, if Gaster is alive, or at least half-alive, I think we—myself, Toriel, and you—should attempt to find him. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s possible we could help him and bring him back. As he was your predecessor, it’s possible that we can transfer your position back to him. _If_ he’s open to it, of course. And then you can have a rest.”

Maybe he wasn’t managing to control his expression at all, now. Asgore wanted them to go on a happy little field trip back to the Underground so they could give his job, his purpose back to Gaster. To potentially bring Gaster up into the sunlight, where he could hurt Sans again. He must have been grimacing or something, because Asgore squeezed his hand, looking absurdly earnest and kind.

“We aren’t replacing you, Papyrus, I promise you. You’re our dear, beloved friend, and we want to take this strain off of you. And...when it comes to your relationship with your father... I know things have been complicated by your memory loss of him. You haven’t had a chance to feel grief until now, and for him to finally reappear? I understand that things must feel very confusing for you. But I’m glad to be at your side, and to help you reconnect with your father.”

Asgore really had no idea what he was talking about.

But then, he had a thought. Technically, Asgore hadn’t commanded him to tell the truth since they had started this. So sure, they could go back to the Underground together and look for Gaster. Sure, they could remove Papyrus’s Judge status. If he was mentally adding other parts to that plan, well, he and Toriel would figure it out soon enough.

He could spare a little honesty, though, in the hopes that Asgore would stick by his side until then. Who knew how things were going to go down? “Thank you,” Papyrus mumbled. Pushing his chair back with a loud squeak (and wincing at the few other customers who looked up), Papyrus shifted his food over to the other side of the table, not that he intended to finish it, and took a spot in the chair beside Asgore. Maybe it was manipulative, but he needed this.

He laughed softly but didn’t protest Papyrus burrowing against his side, skull pressed into his furry arm. Unaware of the plans Papyrus was making in his head, he cheerfully cuddled against him, as much as was polite in a coffee shop, and told him about his gardening plans for the winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too much to want this complete by the end of January? Maybe February instead. It's not that I'm tired of it, I just want to be done and if there's anyone still reading this, maybe you're all a little bored?
> 
> Look at that chapter count, though. I figured I might as well drop the /? now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s kind of vague and maybe it’ll turn out to be unnecessary, but here’s a warning that this chapter has implications of abusive grooming.

Turned out that it was hard to properly stall on a supposed life-saving rescue mission for his father.

He worked, he tried to act normal for Sans, he did his best not to run into Toriel or Asgore around town. He didn’t answer the phone when they called, but there was only so long he could avoid their texts, which were piling up. Both of them wanted to go help Gaster as soon as possible, and the best he could do was to delay it a few days. It would be better to agree to a time before they _decided_ one and forced him to go along with it.

The worst part about it was how excited they both seemed. Apparently both of them were so thrilled to go find their former lover that they had conveniently ignored what it meant for him. Asgore had slotted his discomfort neatly under ‘apprehensive about seeing his beloved dad again’ and went full steam ahead on reuniting them. No doubt he had lofty plans of helping them bond again over tea and cake. Papyrus couldn’t expect any help from him, never mind Toriel.

Papyrus agreed to go three days from now. It gave him one day to panic about it, two days to mentally prepare. They were running out of patience, and his excuse of struggling to find time off work was getting stale and unconvincing. This was it.

*

When there was a knock at the door, he thought it was Asgore. Papyrus had been in the kitchen, picking at a taco. His appetite had been at an all-time low, but it was better to push through eating than swooning every time he stood up.

The assumption of it being Asgore only lasted for the span of a single knock. Whoever was out there was pounding on the door, maybe punching it. By the time he wiped his hands off and made his way to the door, they seemed ready to _knock_ the door down with their fists. He’d have to check it for cracks later.

He opened it onto Alphys, her hand raised and ready to keep punching the door. Luckily she hadn’t gone for the doorbell instead, or it would’ve already been in pieces.

“Uh, you know Sans isn’t around, right? He’s in class, you could’ve texted him. He wouldn’t have answered, but it’s the spirit of the thing.”

“I _know_ that,” Alphys snapped at him, pushing past him and inside the house. She sprawled on the couch, knocking a bunch of throw pillows off (on purpose as some sort of power move, he assumed) and shoving the whole thing a full inch back. “You think I don’t know my best friend’s schedule? Nah, I’m here to talk to you, as shitty as that is.”

“Oh. Well, aren’t you blessed. What’s up, o Captain, my Captain?”

“I’m not your boss anymore,” Alphys huffed, and he wondered where the limit was, how much he could needle at her before she tried to break the furniture or him. Or the furniture with him. “And I know what you did, so don’t give me that act.”

He kept grinning at her as he wracked his mind, trying to think of what it was. These sorts of conversations had been familiar in the prank-heavy years in the Underground, but he hadn’t managed a good prank in ages. “I dunno what to tell you—”

“So,” Alphys said, raising her voice to drown him out. “ _So_ , Sans came over the other day, the usual hangout. We made fucking terrible cupcakes, talked, dumb friend stuff. But you know what he said to me while we were mixing the frosting? Sans looks up at me, five seconds away from sobbing it looked like, and he tells me that he just learned that you were a Judge, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

It worked just as well as her punching him would have. Probably more. “He wasn’t a Guard—”

“There’s not a rule that says only Royal Guards get to know who’s the Judge! Which wouldn’t work anyway because Undyne knows! All these years I thought Sans knew about it, and it just never came up, but you waited until _now_? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I thought it’d hurt him, if he knew,” Papyrus offered weakly. “He would’ve worried about my cases.”

“Well, he’s plenty hurt and worried now, so good job with that. One thing on your list of fuck-ups.” She held up a hand and started to count off on her fingers. “Lied to your brother, constantly keep blowing off Undyne, who’s supposed to be your friend and thinks that you hate her now, I bet whatever problem Toriel’s been having that she won’t talk about is your fault too...”

She stood up abruptly. “I dunno what’s been going on with you that’s causing you to fuck up other people, but these are my loved ones you’re messing with, and I’m not going to tolerate—” He backed up as Alphys advanced on him, knocking into a side table, hands up. He could have teleported, but wouldn’t she just chase him down, angrier at having to search? If he could trust his magic.

But she had her fists raised, reaching out to grab him, to drag him closer to her, and he had to defend himself—

Alphys snarled in pain, snatching her hand back and jumping away from him, away from the tight cage of blue bones he formed around himself. He hadn’t taken off much of her health, but it must have been enough to piss her off from the way she had automatically summoned an ax, poised to start destroying his shielding. His KR was pulling at him, itching to be used, but he tried to reign it in. Tried to hold back the thoughts of assault and battery against a Judge, treason, something that he’d be able to punish... She hadn’t done anything yet, but any second now...

Then the ax in her hand evaporated into a haze of magic. “What the hell, Papyrus? I wasn’t going to hit you—” Yet.

“I mean, you hit a lot of people in a lot of situations, it’s not like I’d be able to tell.” Shut up, shut up, he was only going to make it worse, his big mouth always ruined things, why couldn’t he keep quiet—

“If you _wanted_ to fight, you could’ve just up and said it, we could’ve taken this out to the backyard or something.” It almost felt worse that she was dragging it out, pretending to be so confused about why he was hunched over in a tiny cube of blue magic, trying to guess whether she’d bash in his skull or break his fingers or something else entirely. The waiting was the worst part.

“ _I’m_ not the one who’s fighting here, okay,” Papyrus managed through gritted teeth. “That’s all on you.” Bringing out a blaster or launching bones at her would only make things worse in the long run. Just the act of shielding himself was bad enough.

“Wait, wait, wait. Okay, let me just back up and sit on this couch, and you can keep doing your blue magic thing over there.” It didn’t sound as sincere as she likely intended; usually other guards had been in charge of talking people down. She sat as far as she could get from him, but he kept the bones up anyway. If she tossed an ax or tried to punch her way through, the damage would hopefully distract her long enough that he could summon more. The whole thing could’ve been a trap to get him to lower his guard.

“Listen. I’m pissed off at you for upsetting my best friend and my girlfriend, and probably my mom too, but I’m not gonna kill you! I thought you knew me better than that. Just...work it out with them, and I won’t even wrestle you or anything about it, if you’re that touchy.”

“Who’s touchy, seems like you’re the one getting upset over here.” He had to clamp down on a near-hysterical laugh—if Alphys thought he was laughing at her, she’d take his head off, literally. It was bad enough that he was talking back to her. Who knew if she would remember it and attack him in the future, when he’d forgotten all about it? Or if she took it out on Sans because of his mistake?

“I mean, I’m not the one blocking myself in with magic three layers deep.” She got up, hands outstretched in a way that was supposed to look harmless, as if she needed her hands to use battle magic. And then dropped them again when a few more blue bones sprouted up in front of his little box. “Okay, this got a little intense, I’m just gonna...go. Think about patching it up between all of you, that’s all I’m asking.”

She edged around him to let herself out without nicking any of his bones. Gone, just like that.

It took several minutes for the bones to dissipate, long enough that he had to use magic to lock the doors, rather than trying to pass his arm through the bones. Luckily they left him enough room, barely, to slump to the floor without hurting himself, trying to get his energy back. He huddled there on the carpet for what felt like hours, as the bones faded one by one, wondering if she was going to change her mind and come back to hurt him. If he had fucked up that badly with so many people, then he deserved it.

He was a mess, wasn’t he?

*

There was one factor that he didn’t need to think about. It was obvious he had to do it, especially after Alphys’s visit. He might have done it anyway, but she had added on an extra layer of guilt.

After dinner and a break to psych himself up, he went to Sans’s room. He was already there, studying at his desk, and he didn’t react when Papyrus came in and sprawled out on his bed, grabbing one of his plush stars and holding it to his ribs.

About five minutes in, when he didn’t hear the snoring he clearly expected, he turned around in his chair. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Papy? Or did you just want to bask in the novelty of a room that doesn’t reek?”

“Actually yeah, there’s something I wanted to tell you about, I’m just trying to collect my thoughts here.” Sans started to read again, but Papyrus could tell he was listening. “Bro, first thing is I want you to stay chill until I’m done explaining this, okay?”

“Papy, that makes me think it’s going to be something upsetting.”

“Yeah, kinda, but bear with me until then.”

Sans looked at him, eyelights narrowing in a ‘squint,’ until he finally forced a smile. “But you don’t have any bears with you...”

It was so dumb that he froze to stare at Sans, before the dam broke and he was cackling with laughter so hard that he had to gasp for breath. Sans soon joined in, a high-pitched giggle as he clung to his chair for support. It had been a long time since things had been like that, hadn’t it? No pun wars, no pranks, no gut-busting laughter. They had been wound so tight that even the weakest joke was enough to set them off.

He tossed the plushie at Sans, who expertly dodged it as he moved over to the bed, laying against him in a cuddle. “Tell me your upsetting thing then, Papyrus. I’m listening.”

Deep breaths, pretending that he was just trying to calm down from the laughter. “I’m going back into the Underground to deal with Gaster, and I want you to come with me.”

“Pap—” Just that sounded panicky, and he cut Sans off, petting the back of his skull.

“No, shh, stay chill okay. Think of Snowdin and popsicles and shit. I’ve got a plan, and I think I can deal with this mess for good. Plus Asgore and Toriel are coming with, so they can protect you from him.”

“But who's going to protect you? I feel like this is a sizable flaw in this plan of yours.”

“I mean, I’ll have my super cool big brother there to back me up, and ideally Asgore and Toriel will be looking out for me too, at least a little. I think I can handle it this time. Plus, the more witnesses, the safer both of us are going to be, right? He wouldn’t do anything too horrible with other people around.” From his patchy memories, he felt like that was the case; Gaster typically waited until they were behind closed doors or at least alone before things got really bad.

“That makes some sense, but _how_ are you going to fix it? Not that I don’t approve of fixing it, but I don’t understand what you intend to do.”

“It’s a Judge thing, basically. If it works out, you’ll see, it’ll be obvious. Trust me bro.” He was worried Sans would talk him out of it, out of the one thing he could do to protect them both. Hopefully he’d be forgiven for the lie of omission.

Sans turned his face against Papyrus’s hoodie, and, for the millionth time in his life, he wondered how he could have deserved such a cool, kind older brother. “Of course I trust you, Papyrus. I’ll come with you and help in any way I can.”

*

After a twenty minute shared nap, where Papyrus actually napped and Sans lay beside him, quietly reading his textbook, Papyrus couldn’t manage any more sleep and retreated to his room. He was distracting Sans anyway.

It was so weird to have restless energy, to want to do things. Was this how Sans felt all the time? It was pretty unpleasant, and he had the feeling that it wouldn’t wear off until this whole mess was over. How much sleep was he going to get like this?

There wasn’t much point to research or preparation. It would come naturally or it wouldn’t come at all (though he didn’t want think about how the latter would work out). He wasn’t going to do it the human way, with all those convoluted rules.

On a whim, he turned on his computer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had checked any of his inboxes, and a lot of messages had piled up. There were a few from Muffet’s other patrons—not hard to figure out Papyrus’s handle when there were only two skeletons on monster social media—but most of them were from Undyne. And after that round of yelling from Alphys, it’d be a dick move to keep ignoring them. But if she learned that he had attacked her girlfriend (for all of 5 HP, but still an attack), these might be the last messages he ever got.

_I know it’s been a while, but do you want to hang out some time? just if you want to, no pressure!!_

_hey, check this out got published in another human journal, hope I didn’t miss any typos accidentally x.x_

_papyrus, missed you coming to jogging!! sans says you’ve been sick and cant come, hope it’s not too serious since its been a few weeks (●´⌓`●)_

He had really dropped the ball with Undyne, hadn’t he? Basically fell off the face of the world without telling his best friend and driving her social anxiety crazy. Skimming over the messages, he clicked on the most recent one. With the day of ‘reckoning’ approaching, he wasn’t sure he could manage enough personhood to see her, but...

He could still fix this, somehow. Typing as quickly as he could before the doubt could set in, he sent a brief message to Undyne. It wouldn’t make up for ignoring her this long, but it could be a start: in a week, at her house, all the anime and junk food they could stand.

Clearly Alphys had kept quiet, because Undyne’s response was almost immediate, agreeing to it with all the exclamation points and elaborate smilies that he didn’t deserve for being such a mediocre friend. But it was a promise to himself, just as much as to her, that he’d still be around in a week.

A promise that he’d live through this.

*

_He’s a little kid, like he is in so many dreams lately. Eight years old, maybe nine. Still small enough to sneak around. It’s important that no one sees him. Dad said that no one was supposed to know he was there, and who knows what the punishment could be if he fails? Is sneakiness important for being a Judge? Dad doesn’t have to sneak around._

_He tiptoes through the gray and white castle, which really is just a nice house. Down the stairs and into the golden Judgment Hall which is the only color in the world. Papyrus doesn’t understand the trial, though he watches carefully. Dad talks in gibberish, and it’s hard to see the criminal past what Dad has turned into, his body made of shifting static kind of like the TV when it’s not working, something that hurts to look at. He has to peek out from behind a golden pillar, only one eye socket looking, but it feels like needles dripping inside him._

_The trial ends, but he doesn’t feel like he learned anything. How is he supposed to do all this himself when he doesn’t understand how it works? What is happening to the bad monster? Looking at the trial gets so bright and uncomfortable that he takes a break for just a second, and when he glances back, the criminal monster has disappeared, like they hadn’t been there in the first place._

_The other guards (who look familiar but seem strange for not having grayed skin or fur) march out, passing his hiding place without seeing him. Are they done? Is Dad going to take him home? It doesn’t seem like it’s over, since Dad is striding back further into the Castle instead of coming to look for him. The Hall is empty, but it might not be for long, so Papyrus scurries through it, darting from pillar to pillar until he reaches another gray hall._

_He’s not sure what’s down the other path, only that Dad told him he’s not allowed there, so he peeks around the doorway into the throne room._

_The flowers are on fire, freely burning in the middle and just smoldering farther away. Dad is there in the middle of the flowers, and so is the Queen, and someone he instinctively knows as the King. But he doesn’t want to look at them, at what they’re doing. The sounds above the crackling are gross enough. The fire and smoke don’t seem to bother them. The Queen (and King?) have fire magic, so maybe they can’t be burned, but couldn’t Dad still get hurt? He doesn’t seem to care._

_Papyrus is bored. He can’t leave without Dad, and who knows how long he’ll take before he’s done? And Papyrus wasn’t allowed to bring anything that might distract him from watching the trial._

_The flowers seem like an okay distraction, though. He’s only used to the Echo Flowers, and the fire hasn’t spread so far that he can’t still save one. These flowers can’t talk, but it’s something to play with and examine. They once raised this type of flower in class, but Dad didn’t let him keep it after they got their final grades and got to take them home. Had Dad replanted his flower here with the rest?_

_Dad’s back is turned, so he doesn’t feel too worried about being caught. The smoke is uncomfortable, but he inches in with his shirt collar pulled over his mouth, trying to make silent steps. Soon he’s at the edge of the grass, and he plucks out a gold flower. The snap of the stem is such a little sound, but that’s enough—the Queen glances up at him, and he briefly wonders what’s going to happen now that he’s been caught. He’ll get in trouble for not waiting out in the Hall, right? But she doesn’t say anything, and soon her attention goes back to what Dad is doing beneath her dress. His fingers get a little singed while he’s frozen and staring, the fire starting to creep closer. When the King moves off his throne and onto the floor beside Dad, it startles him into darting out of the room._

_Papyrus sits outside the throne room, plucking the petals from the flower and stacking them in a neat little pile, waiting for Dad to stop touching the King and pulling at the Queen’s clothing, so they can go home._

*

Lately, he slept better with a lamp on. When he was half-asleep or just waking up, it was harder to tell whether the darkness around him was shadows or a projection of Gaster. He tried not to let himself look out the window at night, searching the dark for gray figures watching the house from beyond the barrier of their ward. Honestly, it would just creep him out, and they hadn’t hurt him yet, if they ever would.

Papyrus needed all the rest he could scrape together, but the lamps and the tea and the occasional sleeping pill didn’t do much for keeping the nightmares away.

He turned his pillow over, rearranged the blankets he had kicked into a tangled knot, and tried again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter where not much happens. I wonder if what I was going for with Alphys and that dream came across or not, since this whole chapter is kind of vague. Now onto the finale which is...really long, 10k long. I was working on these chapters basically at the same time, so the last chapter should arrive in a few days at most. I’m actually pretty excited, but mostly nervous? Terrified that the whole thing is going to fall apart at the end. 
> 
> I’m also now on tumblr at tealestmoon (which is nsfw/18+ btw, even if it doesn't look like it now), but I’m a ridiculously timid person and I’m not used to the site yet, so there’s not a lot going on there. It’s a work in progress, but come say hi if you'd like.


	18. Chapter 18

It was almost a relief when the day came. He was sick of anticipating it, seeing Sans getting more and more grim, waiting for it to happen. Honestly, he was too tired and anxious to be too put off at Asgore and Toriel’s excitement, but Sans could barely hold back from glaring at them. He had warned his brother that they’d react that way, but it still was a slap in the face.

They had planned for it to be an early morning affair. Toriel offered to have him come over so she could make breakfast, but he doubted Sans would be able to put up with that much cheer. He had made all of one pancake, which had come out mushy from his impatience, plated way too soon, before he dumped the rest of the pancake mix down the sink and collapsed in his chair, on the edge of angry tears.

So it was microwaved leftover pizza for breakfast, and Papyrus didn’t say anything, just blotted off the grease before he passed out slices for each of them. Just that kind of morning; they might have been rare for the Magnificent Sans, but he wasn’t immune.

It was worse when they headed to Toriel’s house, shortcutting with a firm grip on Sans’s hand. Hopefully all that pizza would be enough to bolster his magic, because there would be a lot of shortcuts to come. Asgore’s car was already parked in front, and both of them probably expected that to be how they’d get there, but nah. That would be a lot of wasted time and effort that he wasn’t going to bother with this time around.

As Toriel had insisted in her texts, he didn’t bother knocking, and the door was unlocked. Apparently, this thing with Gaster was enough for a truce between Asgore and Toriel. It was possible that they had just stopped fighting for the sake of Papyrus and Sans, but things looked tranquil enough. Toriel was reading the newspaper, and Asgore was drinking tea that, guessing from the kettle still sitting out, Toriel had let him make it in her kitchen, rather than having to bring it from his house.

“Good morning, Papyrus! Oh, and you brought Sans too, how lovely. It’s good to see you both, dears.” Toriel was all smiles, and Sans gave her his best grin in return, although it was clearly strained and uncomfortable. He hadn’t told them Sans was coming in case they said no, but it seemed normal, right? Of course both brothers would want to go see their ‘dad.’ “Now, Chara is already staying over with Undyne and Alphys, so there’s no worry there. We can go whenever you’d like.”

“Soon as possible, yeah. But there’s something else.”

“Go ahead, Papyrus,” Asgore said, finishing his tea. “Some sort of preparation you’d like to make?”

“Nah, it’s about how we’re getting there.” He wasn’t going to sit through a drive of that length and a following hike, having to cut off their remarks about how excited they were to see their old friend again. Sans didn’t need to hear that, and he had the feeling it would _drive_ him crazy as well. “I was thinking we could take a shortcut?”

(If he didn’t make it through this somehow and couldn’t get them back, well... There were still bus routes at the bottom of the mountain, so they’d be okay.)

They both gave him quizzical looks as he extended a hand out to each of them, Sans already hooking his fingers through the belt loops in Papyrus’s shorts, and then they were gone.

*

“Teleportation magic is extremely rare, I’m surprised that you have it! I suppose this explains how you could always travel to New Home so quickly.” Toriel’s good mood was starting to grate on him as they walked through into the cave. A three-passenger shortcut was enough to leave him dizzy, and he leaned on the rock as he popped a licorice monster candy in his mouth. He needed all the energy he could spare.

The Dreemurrs were already marching through to the empty throne room, looking around as if Gaster would just be chilling in the corner or something, as if it was that easy. Sans looked freaked out already, fiddling with his gloves as he took tiny steps inside. Probably expecting to be attacked the second they walked in, regardless of their Royal witnesses.

There weren’t any signs of movement as he led them into the Judgment Hall, keeping an eye on Sans so he didn’t lag behind and get ambushed. Despite the anxiety starting to well up in him, it was easier to breathe in the Hall, the familiar gold glow surrounding him. This could be the last time he’d ever step foot in there, so he hoped this would make a good last hurrah, provided that he didn’t die in the process.

First thing, so he wouldn’t forget it, Papyrus reached towards his wrist. It took some fumbling to undo Sans’s elaborate knot, but soon his ward was off. Sans looked horrified when he reached out, gesturing for him to hold out his arm. “Trust me, bro. I just want you to have both on for a little while,” he said in a whisper, so the Dreemurrs wouldn’t notice. Sans reluctantly let him tie the bracelet on him.

He would have his own protections.

There was a flicker at the end of the hall, solidifying into one of the gray monsters stepping through the doorway: the lizard-like one with the staring eyes. Sans squeaked in fear, pressing behind Asgore, but it was lucky for Papyrus. That was one of the weaker parts in his plan: how to get Gaster to come to the Judgment Hall. He waved to them. “Hey, buddy. Mind getting your boss for me? We want to speak to him.”

The monster nodded and headed back out the door. Hopefully bringing the Dreemurrs would interest Gaster enough to show, so they wouldn’t have to go running around the whole Underground looking for him. Maybe it was possible to do this anywhere, but it really wasn’t a good time to test that out. Just standing in the Judgment Hall made him feel calm and powerful, and he wasn’t going to give up that advantage.

“Are you excited?” Asgore asked, touching his shoulder. He looked past his friend, his _owner_ , and shared a glance with his brother, whose eye sockets were cavernous.

“I’m ready for this to be over.”

The changes would have been subtle to anyone who didn’t already know what to look for. The others probably assumed that, since the gray monster hadn’t come back yet, that they just needed to wait a while for Gaster to show up, walking in like a normal bipedal monster.

But the far doorway was growing darker than the shadows were supposed to be, black drips of liquid running along the floor. Gaster was drawing himself together, and from the gasps behind him, he could tell the others had noticed too. Gaster was picking up speed, forming himself out of the darkness, and he looked...different. Shorter, more solid, more pulled together than he had been to intimidate Papyrus. Was he trying to get his appearance closer to how it had looked before his death?

It didn’t really work, from how confused Asgore looked as he moved forward, reaching a hand out. “Is that you, my old friend?” It was ridiculously petty, but Papyrus hoped that Gaster felt ashamed at their horror of what his body had become.

(Why had he told Sans about this and asked him to come along? Was any limited moral support Sans could offer really worth having to see him this terrified? Black fear-sweat was already starting to leak down his skull, even though Gaster only had eyes for Toriel and Asgore, acting like his older son didn’t exist. It was Papyrus’s fault that he wasn’t safe and ignorant at home, and soon he’d know everything.)

He didn’t give Gaster any time to act. The Judgment Hall erupted in orange-gold magic, strong enough to create a wind that ruffled their clothes and blew away the dirt and grime that had covered everything. Papyrus let himself fall into the security of being the Judge, as runes etched themselves out under their feet. Magic circles formed around each of them, more elaborate around Gaster and himself: boundaries to protect all of them and to keep Gaster from escaping. To keep him from hurting any of them. To compel honesty.

This sort of trial was a one in a lifetime event. Monsters were made of love and compassion, after all; it was rare to judge a monster that needed this much protection and shielding, and he had never been given a case before that required this sort of intricacy. And why use all that effort for a human child that was only going to be executed? But if this ended up as overkill, he didn’t really care. All the instincts that had been engraved into him since day one were coming out: Monsterkind could be in danger if he didn’t act and protect them from this potential threat. He had to bring Captain Gaster to justice.

The feeling of his magic was intoxicating. Ice flowed through him, chasing the emotion away until he wasn’t scared or nervous or anything at all. His posture straightened, Soul blazing bright and cold through his hoodie and shirt.

“Papyrus! What is this?” Toriel called, having to raise her voice over the sounds of his magic. “What are you doing?!”

“A trial for Captain Gaster, your Majesty.” A pared down one, admittedly—in a normal trial, there would be the Guards that apprehended the criminal, and any civilians that had been around to witness the crime. There wasn’t a jury, like most human trials, but it still had a bunch of people involved. But here, it was just him, Sans, and their Majesties. The gray monsters could have acted as witnesses, but it was possible that they had scattered rather than risking being caught in truth magic and implicating Gaster. Probably it was unorthodox, maybe it even bent the rules, but there was no one else. He didn’t _need_ anyone else.

Gaster’s response was...strange. What criminal smiled at the face of their trial? Papyrus’s memories were still fragmented, but he couldn’t remember a time when Gaster had ever looked at him like that. “This is more than I expected from you,” Gaster said softly. “Almost impressive.” Sans made a choked noise, but Gaster’s comment wasn’t relevant to the case, so he ignored it.

He reached out to see Gaster’s LV, and it felt like how it must feel to have lungs and drown, pressure caving in on his body, his vision breaking up into static, the color leeching out of the room. Even with the calm strength of a Judge, he had to pull back before he lost himself in the void where Gaster’s stats could be hiding. “LV unknown, your Majesties.”

“If he doesn’t have LV, then all of this really isn’t necessary, Papyrus,” Asgore said. “Surely we can have a smaller trial than all this, if we need one at all? Perhaps something where we can sit down and talk this out properly.”

“Incorrect. Captain Gaster does not have an LV of one, as most monsters do, but an unknown quantity. It’s not possible for me to see his LV, so I’m using precautions in case he’s a high-leveled monster and hiding it somehow. The charges don’t include murder, but he could prove to be dangerous, considering his actions.”

“What charges, my Judge?” Asgore sounded shaken, but not disbelieving. It was surprising that he didn’t look as doubtful as Toriel, though he hadn’t ever seen any of Papyrus’s trials. Hopefully Asgore would be pleased with his performance. “If you believe this is necessary, then proceed, but I don’t know what could require this sort of response.”

Here we go. “Assault on a Royal Judge, treason against the Crown, interference with Royal property, battery, and sexual assault, your Majesties.” He had been so worried about freezing up at this point, unable to speak, but the words came out so easily. It was almost strange seeing how disturbed the others were when he felt this calm.

“Papyrus, that cannot possibly be true!” Toriel looked frantic. She attempted to walk closer to Gaster but, though the circles around her gave her more freedom of movement, she couldn’t get within twenty feet of him. After all the trials she had witnessed, she should have remembered that it was for her own protection. “Are you sure of this, perhaps there’s been some sort of misunderstanding—” She froze, looking out over the runes that guaranteed that Papyrus was telling the truth to the best of his ability. She could pretend that he was just confused but definitely not lying.

“It is true, your Majesties.” And then, to Gaster, over their shocked murmurs: “How do you plead?”

Before Gaster could answer, though... “Wait!” They all turned towards Sans, who shrunk under the sudden attention. “There’s some other things. Can I act as a witness?” He was rattling, but he tipped his skull up, glowering past Papyrus at Gaster. “I’m not sure how this works, is that allowed?”

“Of course.” He modified the magic surrounding Sans, changing him from a spectator and “Guard” to a witness. “Give your testimony.”

“Okay...” Sans fiddled with his bandanna. Their father didn’t even look at him, still watching Toriel. “Can I add, um, child abuse, child neglect, and...trying to kill his kids?”

“Filicide,” Papyrus corrected, and Sans flinched at how calm he was. He had never seen Papyrus like this before, so maybe it was a shock. “How many attempts of filicide did Captain Gaster commit? As the other charges are less quantifiable.”

“A few times, I think,” Sans said, his voice quivering. “To both of us, before he...disappeared. It’s been such a long time since it happened, does it still count?”

“Monsters don’t have a statute of limitations for violent crimes, so even if it’s been years, it’s still necessary information. However, because your accusations involve multiple incidents occurring years ago, if you wanted to offer a soul testimony, it would be less likely to display properly.” Even without the complication of Gaster’s disappearance from reality, if Sans tried to offer a memory, it would probably be patchwork, parts of it mixed with other memories or accidentally fabricated. The older a memory, the less accurate it was as proof, and his truth magic might reject it. “If you’d prefer, you could explain the events verbally.”

Sans glanced between Gaster and Papyrus in turn, and from the way his face fell, he could imagine what he was thinking: he didn’t want to draw out those terrible memories in front of a father that might belittle and mock him for them, and a brother that he was still futilely trying to keep innocent to the end. “I’m...not sure I can...” If those had been the only charges, then they would have had to find a solution for him to speak freely. But Sans wasn’t the only witness; the trial didn’t rely on him alone.

“Wait. Not to disparage your claims, but how can you remember any of this?” Toriel asked. “I myself have only retained a few memories, but to recall multiple incidents...”

He was trying to build up a confident front, that much was obvious, but it slipped a little at that. “I don’t know, it’s just always been that way. It’s hardly perfect, but I think I remember better than everyone.”

“He does, because he’s the one who killed me,” Gaster said, and in another time, that voice would have made Papyrus want to hide in the smallest space he could find. His attempt to sound as normal as possible, without any distortion or static, somehow made it far worse. “Apparently my murder gave him some sort of mental advantage.”

But here was another potential crime. Just because it was his brother didn’t mean that he could just ignore it. He turned to Sans, scanning his LV, as if somehow it would have changed since the hundreds of times he had Checked his brother in the past for more innocent reasons. “Sans Serif has 1 LV, your Majesties. No sign of killing another person.”

“Well, it seems that erasing someone from existence doesn’t yield much EXP.”

“It was self-defense!” Sans screamed back. “You were trying to kill _me_!”

“This is irrelevant to the trial at hand,” Papyrus said, before either of them could continue. Not that he was going to dismiss a potential crime and confession, but now was not the time. “Captain Gaster, we’re discussing the charges against you currently. Don’t attempt to derail this. Again, how do you plead?”

Gaster sighed. “I am not guilty of treason against the Crown. If anything, my actions have been to serve your Majesties as well as I can while being trapped in the Underground without my proper rank. For those charges presented by the Judge, I suppose, I am pleading guilty by necessity, as it was in service of monsterkind. My actions were well within reason. If anything, I deserve a reduced sentence, if not having the charges dropped altogether. However, the charges suggested by Sans Serif are inaccurate and worded in an inflammatory manner, and he clearly can’t back them up in any meaningful way, so those definitely should be dropped.”

“Within reason? You deem sexual assault and violence to be _within reason_?” Asgore asked.

Toriel cut off Asgore before he could say anything more. “Gaster, consider what you’re saying! There has to be some sort of mistake. Not that I’m dismissing it, but surely you understand my confusion. Out of all monsters, a former Judge doing such horrible things? Is this really true, Papyrus?”

“If you need it, I can add evidence to my testimony.” There wasn’t any room left in him to feel hurt that Toriel didn’t believe his word alone; if she needed more, Papyrus would give it, no questions asked. He moved his hands down against his ribcage, pressing them flat and then pulling straight out. His Soul eagerly rose out of him. “What are your preferences for proof, my Queen? Should I project it, or let you view the memories privately?”

They were starting to catch on. “You...you have personal memories of some of the charges?” Toriel asked hesitantly. “Which of them?”

(Sans immediately knew what that meant, one hand clasped over his mouth, probably to keep from screaming again. Had he expected this all along and hoped that it wasn’t true? Had it caught him completely by surprise?)

“The charges which I initially listed, but not the ones added by Sans Serif. I only have proof of the most recent crimes, not anything occurring in the past. Those which occurred to myself.” A Soul couldn’t lie, and especially not a Judge’s Soul caught in the midst of a trial. There was no better evidence, and you couldn’t get a more open-and-shut case than that. And, a tiny voice piped up in him to say, if Toriel and Asgore saw what had happened through his eye sockets, there was no way they could love Gaster anymore.

Both of the Dreemurrs looked horrified. Usually he’d be worried about upsetting them, but right now, judgment overshadowed that. “Privately, I should think,” Toriel forced out, sounding like she didn’t want that at all. “Rather than making your brother go through witnessing that.” She held out her hands, and his Soul drifted out towards her, his body getting colder and colder with the distance. He didn’t really mind; there was no place more fitting for his Soul than in her grasp. Asgore looked hesitant, but he inched closer to her side to view it as well.

There was nothing else to do with himself aside from holding onto the memory so it was on the surface of his Soul, ready for them to view from first person. Through the safe fog of Judgment, just for a second, he felt himself slump. He didn’t want to have to keep thinking about it, even if the case demanded it, phantom hands skittering over his body and a sour taste in his mouth. For a second, the fear was big enough that all that powerful magic couldn’t keep it smothered down.

And Sans saw that second of Papyrus breaking through past the Judge. He felt a familiar heaviness weighing on his shoulders, and when he looked up, Sans had lifted his hand slightly, glowing with magic. Gravity spells couldn’t cause harm on their own and Sans wasn’t trying to throw him around, so the protection circles didn’t block it as a potential threat. As best he could, Sans was trying to keep him grounded with his own blue magic, and that was enough to bolster him.

He really needed that little bit of help. It didn’t take Asgore very long to start crying openly, making no attempt to muffle himself. In comparison, Toriel looked grim as she waited for the memory to end. To someone who didn’t know her, she might have seemed calm, but her fists were balled, and he was surprised she hadn’t summoned her staff. He cut it off before Temmie had arrived; they weren’t relevant to Gaster’s actions. That was all they needed for a conviction.

She turned to look at Gaster, thankfully letting his Soul drift back to him; he wanted his core safely out of the way of her growing anger. The trial couldn’t complete if he was dead, after all. “I cannot believe this...”

“Toriel—”

“How dare you?” Asgore asked before Toriel could respond, drawing himself up to his full height. “You violated your own son, harmed both of them, and you dare to say it was reasonable? That goes against all of the beliefs carried by the Throne, and you act as if we should be pleased.”

“Well, of course. Isn’t this enough proof?” Gaster waved a disembodied hand at the magical circles around them. “He hadn’t done anything this impressive before I encouraged him, had he? Feel free to correct me, my King, but surely you must prefer him this way.”

“ _This way?_ ” Toriel cut in.

“Look at him,” Gaster said. “He’s performing well in this aspect of his duty, at the very least. Hopefully he is succeeding in his carnal duties as well now, if you’ll forgive my crassness; he wasn’t old enough for me to train him in that aspect before I fell into the void. This is far more appropriate for the Royal Judge. If anything, my actions have kept him on the correct path, when otherwise Papyrus may have strayed towards negligent treason himself by not serving you the way you deserve.”

“How could you possibly believe that we wanted this? If we had known...if we had seen even a hint of this cruelty inside of you, perhaps we could have stopped it then? Perhaps we could have _ordered_ you to cease before it was too late. Perhaps that would have been an abuse of our power, but that is far preferable than allowing all this harm.”

(They had never cared about ‘abuses of power’ with him. Maybe he _had_ been a bad Judge, if he had deserved that.)

They were getting distracted. “Is my testimony enough, or do you also want Sans Serif to speak? For lack of a better option, you could go into the next room for some privacy, so he can explain his accusations.” Almost before Papyrus had finished speaking, Sans was already shaking his head. Maybe the memories were too raw for Sans to even speak aloud. It seemed like just naming what had happened was as much as he could handle.

“No, Papyrus. I think what you have shown is more than enough for us to make a conclusion as to Captain Gaster’s character,” Asgore said with blatant disgust. “Let us move on.”

“Your Majesties, if I can make any suggestions about Captain Gaster’s sentencing... I believe, from his actions, that he’s a danger to both monsters on the Surface and monsters who have stayed Underground. So I would recommend something that would ensure everyone’s safety, but I leave the final decision to you.” After all, he had a bias that he didn’t normally have as the Judge, being the victim.

And it’d hurt Gaster more to be sentenced by the Dreemurrs, as long as they made the right choice. Papyrus didn’t think they were feeling too sentimental after seeing his memories.

Papyrus dropped some of the protections around Gaster, so that he was still trapped but the Dreemurrs could approach. Papyrus cast a heavy purple wave of Karmic Retribution as well, and although Gaster didn’t have a visible HP, it looked visibly painful for him, pressing down on his shoulders. If he didn’t _have_ any HP, he couldn’t be sent to 1, right? Even though he wasn’t a normal monster, it seemed like Karmic Retribution still weakened him, hopefully enough for whatever punishment they chose.

In what he knew of monster history, which was patchy and vague, executions for _monster_ criminals were rare. It went against their better natures, after all; whoever did the execution would get a Level of Violence themself, and didn’t that defeat the point? Toriel might have had a significant, justifiable LV herself, as a veteran and monsterkind’s reluctant executioner, but it wasn’t taken lightly. Every bit of EXP weighed on her, so they weren’t going to just add more on a whim.

Sometimes the punishment was a little bit of jail time for violent behavior, but more often it was just community service and probation—in his career, no monster had done anything bad enough to need a stronger response than that. This needed a lot more than just probation, but now that they were on the Surface, there wasn’t a monsters-only prison to put Gaster, if they could move him from the Underground at all. Would he hurt someone else if they let him go, or were Sans and Papyrus his only targets?

“Captain Gaster, from these memories alone, I do not believe we can allow you to walk among monsterkind. You are clearly capable of immense harm without ever killing a single person,” Toriel said. “You cannot possibly think we would dismiss this.”

“Your Majesty, as I am right now, I’m not capable of venturing onto the Surface. I cannot leave the Underground in this form, so that is no real loss to me. And it disappoints me that you are still looking at this from the wrong angle.”

“Gaster, if you could ever believe we would see such useless cruelty and violence from ‘the proper angle,’ then it’s possible you never knew us at all.” There were sparks drifting off of Asgore’s hands as he spoke, barely managing to keep his fire magic under control.

“Why not? Toriel, you were willing to kill children in service of monsterkind. Asgore, you hid rather than confronting her, when you could have ended that slaughter before it began. Why is this so repugnant in comparison? I didn’t harm them more than what was needed to make them useful. As your former adviser, I do think it’s a bit hypocritical.”

“It is true that I have done terrible things. But tell me this, Gaster. If you were able to come up from the Underground, would you continue treating your children in this way?” Toriel asked.

He didn’t have to pause to think about it, no doubt at all. “So long as it was necessary to keep them in line, yes, I would take action. It would be my duty as their father and as your humble servant to make them the most useful they could be.” Would he have said the same thing even without compelled honesty?

“And would you feel any remorse over doing so?” They were clearly leading questions, but he didn’t sound ashamed at his answers. Gaster truly believed what he was saying.

“Of course not. They’re still alive, and far better because of my actions; what do I have to feel remorse about?”

“And that is the difference between your actions and ours: regret, willingness to change. I will be atoning for what I have done for the rest of my life, and to see you refuse to even consider doing the same... I am tempted to say that you are not the man we loved so dearly,” Toriel said, “and it horrifies me that perhaps you have been this way all along without our knowledge. Perhaps even in the days of our early courtship, you were sowing this cruelty inside yourself.”

It seemed like Toriel was just going to talk over him before he had a chance to argue back. “Your sentence is banishment from the rest of monsterkind. It is not enough to constrain you to the Underground, when there are still monsters left behind that you could harm. Prison is useless if there’s no one left capable of keeping you locked away. It may be necessary to take a far more strict approach, if nothing else is suitable.

“There is a form of magic, not well-known among our people, and I cannot recall if we ever spoke to you of it. It’s possible that only the two of us still remember it, from our brief companionship with human mages before the war. A smaller version of the barrier that once trapped us, small enough to be cast on a single person. You would not be able to bring harm to another person outside of this barrier. The only problem is how to deal with you in the time it would take to gather the ritual ingredients needed to cast it.”

“That is _absurd_! All I have done, all these supposed charges, were expressions of my love for the two of you. I tried to give you the perfect Judge and a perfect Guard, and in exchange, you respond with some warped human magic? More than absurd—unethical. How could you do that to your lover?”

“It’s been over a decade,” Asgore said quietly. “Over a decade with a few scattered memories and nothing more. Even without these atrocities, our love would not have survived.”

That was the first thing any of them had said which visibly unsettled Gaster. His previously doll-like, motionless face seemed to crack further with the movements required to grimace. “I did all of this for _you!_ How could you possibly respond in this way? All my years of service and love and this is how you treat your former Judge? You intend to toss me into a cage and walk away?”

“It’s clear that nothing we can say will make you see reason. To think we had returned to the Underground intending to reinstate you in place of Papyrus,” Toriel whispered, shaking her head. “Who knows what new damage you could’ve caused had we returned your position, on top of the atrocities you’ve already committed?”

“You...you were going to do what....?” But they had turned away to confer with each other, ignoring him completely.

Papyrus had been looking at the whispering Dreemurrs, waiting for them to come to a decision, when Sans cried out. He took a step forward, but the circle still around him didn’t let him move any closer to Papyrus. But he could cast magic outside of it. In the corner of his vision, Papyrus could see a detached white hand reaching forward, before a volley of bones hurtled past him, so fast that they were a pale blur.

(Maybe he had been reaching out to one of the Dreemurrs instead. Not to harm, just an innocuous touch. Did Gaster still think they would want him to touch them, even when they had turned away from him?)

And Gaster wasn’t protected now. The majority of Sans’s attacks had gone towards Gaster’s floating hands—not just the one that had been reaching out, but all of them. They were such small targets, but he managed to strike all of them, pinning each one to the ground with bones speared through the holes and into the tile. A few of Gaster’s dozens of fingers had been severed off, twitching and oozing on the golden floor.

However, some of the bones he had thrown struck Gaster’s main mass. Normally, their bone attacks were more of a bludgeoning attack, and for most opponents, they would have hit and bounced off. But Gaster’s body was insubstantial enough that the bones tore an enormous hole in his torso with a horrible squelching noise. Papyrus could easily see through the other side, and there was no sort of internal structure to be found in Gaster’s body, no visible bones. The hole wasn’t big enough to sever him in two, but...from the way the wound wasn’t reforming, it didn’t seem recoverable.

Had the Karmic Retribution left him solid enough to take damage? Enough to be killed? Gaster’s image flickered, then began to drip and ooze. Any other monster would have dusted immediately, but he was melting instead, slowly enough that he could still talk.

At the end, he finally turned towards Sans, who he had all but ignored. “At least I did something right with you,” Gaster said, his voice wavering and stuttering. “Perhaps you could have become the Guard I had intended you to be, with such ruthlessness and precision. I’m proud of you.” The rest of his body was losing shape rapidly, becoming a liquid that dissolved the moment it dripped onto the floor. In the moments before his face went the same route, his features distorting, he said one last thing to the Boss Monsters, something that came out as pleading gibberish as his mouth dissolved.

There wasn’t any dust. The goo evaporated so thoroughly that it was like it hadn’t existed at all, ending with his hands. The whole time, they were still twitching and reaching out towards them, towards the Dreemurrs. It took longer than the rest of him, but eventually the fingers melted into what looked like melted marshmallow, of all things, and disappeared, leaving Captain Gaster completely erased.

The circles around them began to fade, as Toriel rushed forward to the spot of tile where he had been standing. She fell to her knees and brushed her fingers against the floor, but apparently there wasn’t even a trace of dust left, nothing to show that Gaster had just been standing there. Was there anything left in the world that they could have spread his remains on? Would any of them have _bothered_ with funeral rites, if there had been dust?

“He was going to hurt Papyrus,” Sans said faintly. “I had to do it. You saw it...” Asgore looked like he was in shock, visibly shaking, but Toriel was quicker to bounce back, trying to make a stoic expression as she stood. Even if she was grieving and horrified at herself for it, she still knew what they had to do now.

Gaster was twice dead—was it murder?

In comparison, Sans’s own trial was much lower security, though he was still blank-socketed and murmuring to himself as the magic of Gaster’s trial dissipated and new, much simpler rings of judicial magic bloomed around him. As much as they didn’t want to go through with it, Papyrus didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t just ignore something like that, especially for a potential murder case. It would be impossible to bend the rules for Sans.

“How about we handle the majority of this one, while you keep up the truth magic,” Asgore suggested gently, visibly gathering himself and wiping at his eyes. “Two cases in a row is a bit of a strain, isn’t it?” He had the feeling that it was more that they didn’t want him to judge his own brother, but that was fine. It was within their power to do it, so long as he was still doing his own smaller part and making sure they fulfilled justice.

“If you wish, your Majesty.” And, because it was one of the few things only he could do, he had to say it: “Like before, Sans Serif has an LV of 1.” Apparently it hadn’t counted as a kill since there wasn’t any dust. An erasing?

Sans’s memory of Gaster’s assumed attack couldn’t be more fresh, and though he faltered, hesitant to hand his soul over, he let them see the past few minutes through his eyes. From the time it took and Toriel’s murmured questions (“And how old were you then?”), Sans was showing them the first incident too. It didn’t trip Papyrus’s magic circles, apparently accurate enough that it counted as truth, the sort of memory that refused to fade.

(He could have projected his memories out into the air for everyone to see, but Sans was still trying to protect Papyrus from the past, even if it meant leaving his life essence in the hands of people he probably didn’t trust anymore. It was obvious from how slow his Soul was to drift out, how he grimaced when Asgore leaned over to attempt a fatherly shoulder touch. But... Papyrus could live without knowing what it had looked like when his brother pushed Gaster into the Core. From their expressions, he was sure that the circumstances that had led to Gaster’s fall had not been pleasant.)

It couldn’t have been an easier self-defense trial. They had all seen the hand pinned to the floor, far from the orbit where Gaster’s other hands had been floating, clearly moving to do _something_ in the direction of Papyrus or one of the others. Considering what Gaster had been charged with, Papyrus could have very well been the target.

“Your Majesty, I would like to bring up something.” Normally, it shouldn’t have been possible for Gaster to have reached out at all. Even with some of the circles dropped, he had still been confined to that spot, and his detached hands should have been contained as well. “I think that only way that he could have managed to get any of his hands outside the circle was to have left a part of himself intentionally out of range, so it wouldn’t be trapped by my magic. So it was a premeditated action and may have indicated some sort of malice or deception from the start.”

That was enough to convince them.

“Considering what we’ve learned from your memory and your testimony under truth-compelled magic, it’s simple to conclude that these instances were self-defense or defense of another, and you clearly aren’t a danger to monster or humankind,” Toriel said, fumbling her words. “This goes doubly for the first...incident, due to your youth—you could not be expected to defend yourself non-lethally in such circumstances. As such, we deem your initial pleading of guilty as coerced, and the charges can be dropped. You are not guilty in the eyes of the Crown.”

*

And just like that, it was over.

After all of that, he didn’t want to let it go, to give up on being a Judge. To be one of the most powerful monsters in the world, to see the truth of everyone around him... He wanted to stay like that forever, until he dusted from the strain of it. Slowly, the runes and the circles began to fade, leaving only the natural golden glow of the Judgment Hall. The fear was fully rushing back the moment the magic had dissipated, even though it was stupid to be afraid now that Gaster was gone.

(Wasn’t he?)

Or maybe he was afraid of what he had just done to _Sans_. Innocent verdict or not, he had been so caught up in the mindset that it had seemed perfectly alright to immediately drag his brother into a trial seconds after defending Papyrus from their... from Captain Gaster. Not even a minute for everyone to calm down, only justice justice justice. So he had to end this before he betrayed himself and tried to convince them that no, he had changed his mind, he needed to keep going until he died. Staggering closer on stiff legs, he thrust his wrist out towards Toriel. “I’m ready to take it off now. Unless you’ve got any last minute cases waiting in the wings?”

Did she hate him for tricking her, as she looked away, digging through her purse for what he assumed were the ritual ingredients? For destroying her few good memories of the former Judge and taking himself out of her reach in one day? She was doing her best to keep her gaze averted as she arranged candles and drew a circle in chalk, one that looked like a less elaborate version of the ones he had cast in his trial.

“Hey, uh. Mind if I sit down for this instead?” Papyrus asked, when she waved for him to step into the half finished circle. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep standing, and he needed to save the energy. He wasn’t done with all he had left planned.

“That’s fine, Papyrus, sit if you want,” Toriel said in a strained voice. He sat, legs crossed, and watched her complete the circle around him. Ideally he would have busted out one of the pastries in his pocket so he’d stop feeling so wobbly, but he had the feeling that crumbs in a serious ritual circle would throw the whole thing off.

Asgore lit the candles for her, a tiny flame hovering at the tip of his finger: all little white candles except for a single yellow one, the smallest tealight he’d ever seen. For Justice, he guessed. There were designs carved in the white candles, but he couldn’t tell from this angle, and moving would have messed up the circle. “Your arm, please,” she murmured, and he obediently stretched it out so she could dab some sweet-smelling oil on his rune.

He expected it to just be Toriel, but both of them joined in the ritual, sitting as well instead of looming above him. The chanting and the gesturing didn’t mean anything to him, some bit of ancient magic back from when monsters did complex spells like this, rather than just using bullets and color magic. There probably weren’t a lot of other monsters still alive who practiced this sort of thing.

Papyrus still had a chance to stop it. He could scuff out a bit of the circle with a twitch of his foot or accidentally knock over a candle, play it up as an accident. These sorts of rituals were precise enough that you couldn’t just start over after a mistake. They would probably need new materials and more preparation time for whatever sort of meditation or focus this sort of thing required beforehand. And then he’d have a chance to back out, to convince them otherwise.

He didn’t move, shrinking in on himself. He was tired of the orders, of the dreams, of wondering what motives Asgore might have had for befriending him. It was possible he was going to lose them both in a single stroke, ending a vital part of monster culture, taking away their old friend and now abandoning them himself, but he was so _tired_. He didn’t want to be their favorite toy anymore.

As they sang and cast swirls of fire around him, he could see his brother behind Asgore’s bulk, watching the proceedings. He was losing his friend and whatever Toriel counted as, but at least the world was a little safer for Sans. ...Technically Sans had done the important part, but Papyrus had helped.

It didn’t take that long. The focal point was that tiny yellow candle, and he guessed correctly that the ritual would end when the symbol of Justice had burnt itself out. At Asgore’s gesture, he held out his arm again, and they bent their heads over it, whispering more in that ancient language. With a shot of warmth up his arm, just short of painfully hot, the rune started to fade away, leaving behind a tiny scar.

Faintly, almost like something he just imagined, he could feel the strands tied around his Soul snap, severing him from them.

*

“There’s one more thing I need to do,” Papyrus said, although he was more than ready to pick a spot on the floor to sleep. He felt rung out, like all his bones had been squeezed in a giant hand, and they still weren’t done. Or technically, _he_ wasn’t done, and they could just chill out and wait on him.

“Papyrus, haven’t you done enough already?” Sans asked, rubbing at his cheeks, though the tears had all dried up by now. “Are you sure it can’t wait?” He was leaving Sans alone at his most vulnerable, but he had to do this.

“Yeah, I’m being proactive for once, just like you’ve always told me to.” And then, to all three of them, “I don’t think this is going to take that long, I swear.”

Hopefully his hunch was correct, or this would actually be hours of searching, and none of them were in a good state for that. And Papyrus really didn’t want to leave Sans alone for very long or have to come back to the Underground again, at least not for a while.

His shortcut took him to the door to the Ruins, the cold air pleasant against his face. Against the gray stone of the door, someone was already waiting for him, umbrella raised above their head to protect their fur from any stray snowflakes.

“Hey, kiddo.” Could he really muster any spite against the gray monsters, now that it was over? Especially this one.

“Hello, Papyrus.” They peered up at him. “You’re going inside, aren’t you? The door’s too heavy for me to open.”

They put down their umbrella and helped him heave the doors open, though most of the effort came from him, and it was slow going. Once they had pulled it open enough for the two of them to slip through, they shut it again. No need for any of the remaining Whimsuns or Migosps in the Ruins to catch a chill.

“If...if it’s alright, Papyrus, I’d like to walk with you for a little bit. Is that okay?”

“Sure thing, but I’m gonna want some answers from you.” He slowed down his pace so the kid could keep up, heading down the passage and into Asgore’s former home.

“Of course. It’s the least I can give you, isn’t it?” They paused to look around the empty house, before opening the front door and leading him out. “What did you want me to tell you?”

“Probably the most important thing is if he’s actually gone or not. There wasn’t any dust.”

“It’s difficult to tell, for someone who already existed outside of reality, but...” They touched the front of their striped sweater. “I don’t feel his presence anymore. I think he really is gone now. And soon we’ll be gone too.” He came to a halt, and they started to traverse the leaf puzzle in reverse by themselves.

“You guys are going to disappear too? But you haven’t done anything wrong.” That he knew of, anyway, but he doubted they had done anything close to what Gaster had.

They paused at the doorway, waiting for him to do the puzzle as well. “Yes, but we’re a part of him, in a way. The nothingness sort of...smushed us all together, that day. If you get rid of Gaster, the rest of us have to follow. I think I’m the last one out the door.”

“That’s not fair.” Papyrus could tell he sounded childish, but there wasn’t any other way to say it. “What have any of you done to deserve it?”

“Have you figured out who we were now? It’s okay if you say no.” They walked over the retracted spikes of the finished rock puzzle. “I’m not going to be upset if you can’t remember me still.”

“I can’t remember, but I wanna know. You’re a kid, there’s no reason you should be involved in this.”

They shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anymore. My mom and dad were both Royal Guards, a long time ago, in your dad’s personal squad. And sometimes they brought me to work with them, as long as it wasn’t dangerous missions. Or at least they thought it wasn’t a dangerous mission that day. All of us gray monsters were in the Core too, when Gaster fell into it. Mostly Guards, but there was one Core worker there who didn’t get the evacuation order. The wave of magic it caused erased us too.”

“But there’s more than that, isn’t there?” He wasn’t trying to push this monster that far, but it was hard not to feel like he should have remembered more about them. “I think you’re more important than just that.”

“I guess that’s the sad part. Are you starting to get some of it back? We used to be friends. One of your only friends, since I think Gaster mostly approved of me because of my parents, and because....because I look like a Boss Monster, right?” They twirled their umbrella in embarrassment, looking at their feet. “I guess he liked it better that way. Because a future Judge didn’t need friends, just future Guards to protect them.”

As they reached the spike puzzle, they wrapped their little fingers around his hand, and he led them across. It was true: he hadn’t had much in the way of friends as a kid. Even with Gaster gone, a part of him must have remembered that it wasn’t allowed. When they didn’t let go after they had cleared the spikes, he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry, I still can’t remember you.” If he strained past the headache from magic overuse, he could almost put together a patchy memory of blocks and faded dolls, a soft padded hand passing him a green crayon. They walked past the switch puzzles and down the Ruin stairs.

“That’s okay. You might start remembering, or you might not. It’s better if you forget about me, though.” They stopped at the doorway, slipping their hand out of his. “All the others have already disappeared, I’ve just been holding on to talk to you a bit longer. You know... It’s scary, really scary, to think of a world where everything is the same except you’ve been erased, where everything functions just fine without you, but... I’ve technically been dead for a long, long time. So I’d better start acting like it.”

“I’m not going to forget you,” he said quietly, feeling his eye sockets prickle. “You deserve at least that much. At least tell me your name before it’s too late.”

“So I can’t make you give up on all this? You’d really be better off...”

“ _Please_. Give me your name, that’s all. Can’t you do that for your old pal?”

They sniffled, ducking their head. “I’m not trying to hide it from you on purpose, I can’t remember it anymore. I’m sorry, there’s no point in chasing something that’s been erased. Just...keep going and finish this, okay?” They lunged at him, giving him a brief hug around the waist. He only had a few seconds to hug back, before they squirmed away, sprinting on those stubby kid legs out of the room, umbrella in hand. “Goodbye, Papyrus!”

He had the feeling that, if he rushed forward to follow them, that they’d already be gone.

When he walked into the final room in the Ruins, he knew what he’d find there, pretty much an inevitability. At least the world was giving him a break for this one thing.

Temmie had waded into the patch of flowers, weeding as best as their stubby limbs could manage. They looked up with annoyance, flinging a bunch of plucked dandelions at him and showering his knees with dirt. “I thought I told you to screw off, trashbag, so you wouldn’t get grabbed by Gaster again. Are you really this stupid?”

He twisted up his sleeve, and though Temmie made a show of ignoring him, he could tell that they saw his wrist, now clear of the rune, with barely the shadow of a mark left behind. “Not as empty-skulled as you think I am. One, not a Judge anymore, so I don’t have to obey you now, and two, Gaster’s gone. Hopefully for good this time.”

“That can’t be possible.” Their aloof act forgotten, they made their way through the flowers and towards his feet. He sat down, making sure to stay on the rock floor, still remembering the time they had attacked him for walking on the grass. “You’re wrong, and he’ll get you just when you think you’ve won. There’s no way.”

“Well, if you’re right, then at least he’s hurt enough that he’ll lay low for a while, but nah. I think that’s the end for him.”

“How?”

“It was basically my last go as a Judge. Did a trial, convicted him, sent him packing.” He wasn’t sure Sans would want anyone else to know what had happened afterward, so he left that part out. “Then I got it removed right after that. Easy.”

Temmie huffed and moved back to a flower. “So why tell me? I’m sure you could find someone else who’d actually think your bragging was impressive.” They squished an aphid with savage glee, about ready to ignore him completely.

Time to drop a Temmie-sized bombshell. “Well, the Dreemurrs are still waiting up for me at the Judgment Hall, but I had the feeling you’d want to go with, your Highness.”

For a second, he thought they were about to decapitate the daisy they started pruning, but they set down the shears. “So, how long have you known?” Their voice was flat, the kind of voice you’d expect a soulless creature to have all the time.

“Eh, a while I guess. The whole ‘wanting to be called Majesty’ thing. The flowers. Uh, the tiny clue of you having power over my rune which was something only Dreemurrs had. That sort of thing.”

“Fine, fine, you figured out my secret. Do you want a trophy? A parade? It doesn’t _matter_ , I have to stay down here, with the flowers. Who else is going to take care of them?”

(Asgore must have taught them about it, such a long time ago. Kind of difficult for an armless child to do gardening, but Asgore just couldn’t help telling everyone in audible range about flowers, could he?)

“Eh, you could ask the Whimsuns, some of them are still around. Or just let the flowers grow on their own. They do it in the wild all the time.”

“The Whimsuns would mess it up,” Temmie snapped, but he had the feeling their resolve was already weakening. The kid spent so much time grilling him about the Surface that of course they wanted to go see it for themself. There was only so much sky they could see out of that tiny hole above them.

“So leave them directions. They’re good monsters, they’ll do it as long as you don’t yell at them.”

“You know,” Temmie said, brushing dirt off their paws and apparently abandoning that line of argument. “They really don’t want me up there. If you bring me up to Asgore and Toriel and say ‘hey, found your dead kid,’ they’ll think you’re crazy. It’s not gonna work.”

It was almost nice, almost civil. No attacks thrown and no orders. He wasn’t being punished for poking holes in their arguments. “You don’t have to tell them. Be Temmie instead of MK. Once we get off the mountain, get Chara to vouch for you and you’ll be able to stay. You’re a tiny thing, so it’s not like either of them doesn’t have room.”

“It’s gonna go bad,” Temmie whispered. “I’ll ruin everything. You have no idea. And it’ll be your fault, since you’re the one trying to drag me up there.”

“Eh,” Papyrus said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Give it, say, six months? And if it sucks, you can come back Underground. And if you ruin _everything_ , then won’t people let you go?”

He’d won with that. “Six months,” they said reluctantly, and they ‘shook’ on it, as best as Temmie could shake without fingers. They packed up the gardening basket and made Papyrus give elaborate directions to the first Whimsun he could find, since they hardly had the temperament to have a conversation with such a timid monster. Shivering delicately, the Whimsun promised to look after the flowers, and to tell the others.

When he came back into the room, they were staring at the mound of grass. “You ready?”

“Ugh, you have the _worst_ timing. I was having a moment, asshole.” They sniffed and patted the ground in front of them. “Goodbye, Frisk.” He had the feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear that whisper, looking at his phone and pretending not to notice. He didn’t mind starting a temporary truce.

Putting the gardening tools in their inventory (“I’m not just gonna let the Whimsuns take them, they’re _mine_! And it’s not like those pansies would be able to hold them anyway, they’re too small.” And then they tossed a weak bullet at his leg when he laughed at their unintentional pun.), Temmie came over to his side, glancing back at the flowers one last time. Once he was sure they were pressed against his leg so that they’d be taken on the ride, he took a shortcut.

The other three were still waiting there for him, Sans pacing furiously, Asgore sitting on the floor, Toriel leaning against a column. “There you are! That was far more than a few minutes, I was about to go looking—oh.” Sans must have just noticed Temmie, hiding behind Papyrus’s ankles as best they could without touching him or appearing nervous in any way. “Temmie? I didn’t know you were still down here.”

He had to wonder how his brother knew the former princen, but he let the thought go. Kind of hypocritical for him to get pissed off about Sans keeping secrets. Both of the Dreemurrs were staring down at them, Toriel in confusion and Asgore with a disgruntled look. “Yeah, well. I wanted to take a break from the Underground, see Chara again. Is that a _problem_?” The last bit was directed at the Dreemurrs. Must’ve been kind of fucked up to reunite with your parents without them knowing who you were.

...Not as fucked up a familial relationship as Papyrus and Sans with Gaster, but still. He probably needed to muster some sort of sympathy.

“I...I suppose not,” Toriel said. “You’re not the only one to wait on your decision to come to the Surface. Shall we be going, Papyrus? Is that all you wanted to complete?”

She sounded a fraction as weary as he felt, but he could see it in all of them. The urge to go home, be done, end the day before noon. So they did.

*

He teleported the five of them back to Toriel’s doorstep, though it drained the last of his magic, leaving him wobbling on the dismount and landing them on her lawn rather than her driveway. Goodbyes were brief (not a single ‘sorry for your loss,’ thank fuck, they knew better than that), Sans already pushing him along, but Asgore managed a brief hug, enough to make Papyrus wonder where things stood between them.

(He could've been imagining things, but it felt like the fraction of the hug Asgore would usually give him, like he was worried Papyrus would break with any amount of pressure. Or like he thought Papyrus was too dirty to touch.)

Sans shooed him towards home, only letting him get one glance back at the Dreemurrs walking the opposite way, two enormous Boss Monsters and their tiny, out of place child between them. He could only guess that they were off to Alphys and Undyne to collect their other kid. He could only guess how that conversation was going to go.

Eh. Chara would hopefully fill him in later, if he bugged them about it. All that mattered now was home.

Climbing up the stairs to his own bed was an insurmountable challenge, so he staggered to the couch instead, falling face down with his skull pressed against the armrest. Sans pushed him against the backrests and then squirmed down into the remaining couch room, putting an arm around him.

“You okay, bro?”

Sans huffed. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? You were the one to put him on trial, I just watched.”

He wasn’t okay. His soul had been emptied out, his wrist was bare, an innocent little kid had disappeared into nothing. His entire purpose had been destroyed, and he had _agreed_ to it. He had intentionally dragged Sans into something that would probably stay with him for the rest of his life. “I need a week-long nap, but that’s par for the course. So, again, are you okay? You did do half of it, take some credit.”

“You’d think killing him twice would make me feel something,” Sans said to his chest. “But I don’t feel guilty at all, just relieved at knowing that you’re safe from him. There’s nothing there I want to grieve. Is that a terrible thing to say?”

“Well, can’t judge you for it, but...” It took a second, Papyrus waggling his arms at him, before Sans caught on, face contorting into exaggerated irritation. “Yeah, yeah, that was stupid, so sue me.”

“Shut up!” Sans shrieked, trying to push away from him and getting bear-hugged in the process. “No! You can’t make those jokes anymore, screw you! I’m trying to be serious!” That was as crass as his speech usually got, and now Papyrus was cackling, his body aching with the exertion.

“Nah,” Papyrus said, once he caught his breath. “Now that I’m not Judge anymore, I guess I can say it: thank you for killing our dad twice. Super cool of you, 10/10, love it.” If there had been something to miss about Gaster, his memories of it hadn’t resurfaced, if they ever would. Maybe that made him a horrible son, but he could deal with that.

“Even...even though it hurt all those other monsters? They would’ve been fine, if it wasn’t for me.” Sans went from hysterical to upset almost immediately, and Papyrus shelved the idea of talking about the monster kid. Sometime when things were settled down, he’d pick his brother’s nonexistent brain on that. If Sans’s memory of the gray monsters and Gaster hadn’t faded in years, then Papyrus could wait a month to learn more about an old friend.

“Well, you didn’t push all of them into the Core, right? That bit was an accident, so don’t blame yourself for it. You were a kid, you didn’t know what would happen.”

“If things made any sense,” Sans mumbled, “then it would have erased me too, wouldn’t it? And then there would be only one skeleton brother, and it wouldn’t make any sense to even mention him as a brother. Just you without anyone to protect you. It’s been so many years and I still don’t know why it didn’t wipe me out too.” And, after that, it sounded like an unspoken ‘then it should have erased me too.’

“Sans, don’t say that.” He clung onto him, both of them a mess of clattering, tangled bones. “I don’t know why either, but it was meant to be that way. So don’t go ‘oh why wasn’t I erased too,’ not when you did all of that to protect us. I wouldn’t have made it if you had been erased.”

From the way Sans started to cry into Papyrus’s hoodie, he didn’t believe it, but at least he was there to cry in full color, a monster everyone could remember as the kindest, strongest person they all had ever met.

They were alive, and Gaster wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s the end of ‘for queen and country’! Ellie, I’m sorry it took this long, strayed so far from the original plot bunny, and didn’t have that many sex scenes, honestly. And that its pacing was maybe a little wobbly since I’ve never written anything this long before. And the entire thing about how monster trials actually work... x_x
> 
> But I hope this isn't the end of Judge underswap Papyrus. I actually tried to write parts for both a direct sequel and a branching path with Underfell, during NaNoWriMo, but...It was rough at best, and I was really frustrated with what I came up with. So I’d like all of that to happen, but I need a long break to make better outlines and to prop up my low self-esteem. And to work on the other stuff I’ve been neglecting. 
> 
> For anyone who has stuck through this whole thing, I’d love to know what you thought of it! I appreciate all of you.


End file.
